TWO 

DEAD 

MEN 


BORZOI  MYSTERY  STORIES 

THE  LOUDWATER   MYSTERY 
By  Edgar  Jepson 

THE  CASE  AND  THE  GIRL 
By  Randall  Parrish 

THE  WHISPERING  DEAD 
By  Alfred  GanachUly 

By  J.  S.  Fletcher: 

THE  MIDDLE  TEMPLE  MURDER 

THE  TALLEYRAND  MAXIM 

THE  HERAPATH  PROPERTY 

SCARHAVEN  KEEP 

THE  RAYNER-SLADE  AMALGAMATION 

RAVENSDENE  COURT   Un  Preparation] 

A  descriptive  circular  of  all  Mr.  Fletcher's 
myxtery  stories  will  be  mailed  upon  request. 


TWO  DEAD  MEN 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  DANISH  OF 

JENS    ANKER 

BY   FRITHJOF   TOKSVIG 


NEW  YORK       ALFRED  •  A  •  KNOPF      MCMXXH 


ESERVATION 
PY  ADDED 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  INC. 

Published,  Hay,  1922 


PBINTID   IN   THE   UNITED    STATES   0*  AMERICA 


PT?/7.r 


™,rt 
TWO 

DEAD 

MEN 


590 


PROLOGUE 

ABOUT  9  o'clock  one  spring  evening, 
Thorvald  Hansen,  a  small  humpbacked 
cobbler,  was  putting  a  room  in  order  at 
the  back  of  his  basement  shop  in  Saxo  street. 
The  window  was  covered  by  an  old,  ragged  rug 
heavy  with  dirt.  It  looked  up  into  a  funnel  of  a 
court,  one  of  a  whole  line  of  courts  stretching  up 
to  Dannebrog  street. 

A  lamp  with  a  chipped  shade  burned  on  the 
bare  pine  table.  Two  crippled  chairs  with  ragged 
cloth  seats  were  placed  beside  it.  An  unmade  bed 
was  visible  in  the  rear  of  the  room,  a  rusty  iron 
skeleton  filled  with  a  heap  of  filthy  rags.  The 
cobbler's  father,  the  "Old  One,"  as  they  called 
him,  had  flung  himself  upon  it  and  was  snoring 
off  the  effects  of  a  recent  drinking  bout.  Ordi- 
narily he  occupied  a  room  up  in  the  garret. 

The  air  in  the  room  was  close  and  oppressive, 
due  partly  to  the  Old  One's  exhalations,  and 
partly  to  the  tobacco  in  the  cobbler's  well-chewed 

[7] 


TWO  DEAD   MEN 

briar-pipe.  A  framed  motto  over  the  bed  ex- 
pressed the  pious  wish  that  God  would  hold  His 
Hand  over  this  Home. 

The  cobbler  had  now  swept  the  dust  and  dirt 
into  the  corners  and  brushed  the  bread  crumbs 
off  the  table.  He  put  the  broom  away  outside  in 
the  shop. 

His  father  was  tossing  in  an  uneasy  sleep — and 
snored.  The  cobbler  lounged  over  to  him  and 
suddenly  clapped  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  be- 
gan shaking  him: 

"They  may  be  here  any  minute  now." 

The  old  man  half  woke  and  wrenched  himself 
away. 

"Let  me  alone,  d'ye  hear — " 

"No,  I'll  be  damned  if  I  will—"  and  the  son 
gripped  him  again. 

"Then  give  me  just  a  little  drop — "  begged  the 
old  man,  and  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  "I  am 
so  thirsty." 

The  cobbler  did  not  loose  his  hold.  But  an  evil 
smile  slipt  over  his  pallid,  fatty  countenance  un- 
der the  parted  coal  black  hair.  His  eyes  became 
fixed.  His  brutal  jaw  with  its  blue-black  stubble 
tightened  like  a  muscle. 

"Certainly,  my  dear  sir, — anything  you  like — 
That's  just  what  I'm  here  for,  you  know." 

[8] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

He  grinned  sarcastically,  evilly.  But  there  was 
a  furious  strength  in  his  hands  as  with  a  sudden 
snatch  at  the  old  man's  shoulder,  he  tore  him  out 
of  bed: 

"Get  out  of  that!" 

Hansen  straightened  the  rags  that  served  as 
bedclothes.  The  Old  One  got  up  laboriously, 
dragged  himself  over  to  one  of  the  chairs  and 
slumped  down  on  it,  slapped  his  arms  on  the  table, 
and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Don't  tip  over  that  lamp,"  barked  the  cobbler 
as  he  knocked  his  pipe  out  on  the  stove  over  by 
the  bed  and  filled  it  anew.  The  Old  One  sat  sway- 
ing and  groaning.  The  cobbler  grinned  ma- 
liciously. 

"There  is  always  a  worm  in  the  core,  eh?" 

The  Old  One  suddenly  took  his  hands  away 
from  his  face,  blinked  at  the  light  and  looked 
about.  First  recognizingly,  then  surprised,  then 
disapprovingly. 

"Why  is  everything  tidied  up  so  this  evening?" 

"Because  we  are  going  to  have  company," — 
grinned  his  offspring. 

Slowly  the  old  man  remembered. 

"Ah,  that  is  true!  Elly  and  her  new  intended 
are  coming." 

"Intended!'"  the  cobbler  leered.  "It  won't 
[9] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

last  long,  I'll  bet.  She's  a  flighty  one,  is  Elly. 
She  likes  variety.  He's  a  queer  bird,  anyway." 

"A  genius  they  say,"  grunted  the  old  man. 

"Genius — yes,  so  she  thinks.  He's  only  a 
printer,  he  is,  and  he  hasn't  even  got  a  job.  It'll 
be  hard  going  if  they're  going  to  live  by  his  trade." 

The  Old  One  nodded  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"Right  you  are,  m'boy!  Right  you  are — a-ah, 
my  throat! — If  you  only — " 

He  looked  beseechingly  at  his  son  who  sat  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Hey?"  asked  that  worthy  crossly. 

" — could  spare  me  a  little  drop — " 

"What  are  you  whining  for  now?"  demanded  the 
cobbler  with  a  leer  even  more  evil,  if  possible, 
than  before. 

"You'll  not  get  a  drop  to  drink!" 

A  sudden  rage  seized  the  old  man.  He  banged 
the  table  with  his  fist  and  threateningly  en- 
deavoured to  get  up,  but  could  only  wave  his  arms 
wildly. 

"Do  you  know  whom  you  are  talking  to?"  he 
gasped.  "What,  rogue — a  man  with  whom  His 
Majes — " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  very  well  that  His  Majesty 
shook  hands  with  you,"  interrupted  his  son.  "I 
know  the  whole  lesson.  But  even  if  the  Pope  him- 

[10] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

self  had  kissed  you,  you  wouldn't  get  another  drop. 
I  don't  want  you  any  more  drunk  than  you  are 
already.  D'ye  see?" 

He  had  been  rapping  his  pipe  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed  to  keep  time  to  his  words.  .  .  .  The  Old 
One  had  completely  missed  his  heroic  oration. 
He  simply  sat  and  stared  dully  at  the  table. 

"I  am  an  old  man,  whom  His  Majesty — "  he 
whimpered. 

The  cobbler  rose  and  bent  threateningly  over 
him. 

"What  are  you  muttering  about?"  he  rasped. 

Just  then  they  heard  a  noise  at  the  door  to  the 
shop.  They  both  froze  and  listened.  Then  came 
a  series  of  knocks. 

The  cobbler  breathed  easier. 

"It's  Elly's  knock,"  he  said  and  gave  his  father 
a  push  in  the  ribs.  "Straighten  up  now  a  bit. 
D'ye  hear?" 

The  Old  One  obeyed  and  the  cobbler  went  into 
the  dark  shop.  Before  he  opened  the  door  he 
asked: 

"Who's  there?" 

"It's  me,  Elly,"  he  heard  his  sister  say,  "and  my 
friend." 

Then  Thorvald  Hansen  undid  the  door. 

"God's  peace  and  welcome,"  he  bleated  loudly. 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 
"Cut  out  the  play  acting,"  said  Elly.     "Niel- 
sen knows  you  from  hearsay.     Yes,  he's  here, 


too." 


Nielsen  greeted  him  and  went  with  Elly  and  the 
cobbler  into  the  back  room. 

"The  Salvation  Army  often  have  people  out  here 
in  the  street,"  grinned  the  cobbler  to  his  sister, 
"and  souls  must  be  saved.  That  is  why  I  laid  it 
on  a  bit  thick." 

Nielsen  ignored  the  cobbler's  outstretched  hand. 

Thorvald  Hansen  regarded  him  covertly.  His 
appearance  was  anything  but  prepossessing.  He 
was  tall,  slender  but  broad-shouldered.  His  thick 
brown  hair  was  uncombed,  and  he  wore  eye-glasses 
that  seemed  rooted  to  his  nose  but  that  did  not  in 
the  least  obscure  the  glances  from  his  keen  eyes. 
He  was  vilely  unshaven,  and  his  brutal  mouth  was 
extremely  disfigured  by  several  long,  yellow  front 
teeth  which  hung  tusk-like  over  his  lower  lip. 

And  as  for  his  clothes — the  cobbler  was  really 
almost  ashamed  on  his  sister's  account,  when  he 
saw  the  dirty  paper  collar  and  dickey,  the  long 
shabby  Prince  Albert,  the  greasy  vest  and  the 
baggy  and  wrinkled  blue  trousers  badly  frayed  at 
the  bottom. 

Not  to  speak  of  cuffs,  which  were  missing. 
[12] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

His  boots  were  the  only  decent  thing  about  him, 
and  even  they  were  patched.  And  his  tie,  too,  was 
Worn  and  spoke  of  better  days. 

And  Elly,  who  could  play  around  with  counts 
if  she  wished.  That  one  could  sink  so  low!  And 
worse  yet,  she  was  in  love  with  him. 

"Nielsen  has  brought  some  cognac  along,"  said 
Elly  and  threw  her  hat  and  coat  on  the  bed. 

The  cobbler  smiled  oilily  and  offered  Nielsen 
one  of  the  lame  chairs. 

"I  will  fetch  some  glasses,"  he  promised  and 
disappeared  in  the  kitchen. 

"Nielsen  has  brought  two  bottles  so  we  had 
better  start  in,"  said  Elly. 

The  Old  One's  eyes  gleamed  a  bit,  bleared 
though  they  were. 

"A  little  night-cap,"  he  mumbled  feelingly  and 
turned  suddenly  toward  the  daughter,  and  ges- 
tured majestically  with  his  hand. 

"Your  father  is  proud  of  you,"  he  said. 

"Nonsense,"  smiled  Elly.  She  was  junoesque, 
golden-haired,  and  fresh  as  if  she  had  lived  a  life 
among  sunlight  and  flowers. 

The  cobbler  returned  with  three  glasses.     What 
was  just  right  for  three,  was  too  little  for  four* 
Elly  poured  her  portion  into  a  cup. 
[13] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

"Welcome,  brother-in-law,"  toasted  the  cobbler, 
"and  good  luck  to  it." 

"Luck  to  it,"  seconded  the  Old  One. 

They  drank.     Nielsen  refilled  the  empty  glasses. 

"Is  this  all  there  is  to  the  place,"  he  asked  and 
his  keen  glances  darted  around  the  room  and  into 
the  darkened  store. 

"There  is  a  little  kitchen  outside,"  and  the  cob- 
bler indicated  it  with  a  gesture  that  he  sought  to 
make  superior.  Nielsen  irritated  him.  There 
was  something  curt,  almost  commanding  about 
him. 

"Let  me  see  this  kitchen,"  said  the  printer. 
The  cobbler  emptied  his  glass,  and  got  up  and 
opened  the  door  to  the  kitchen. 

"This  is  all  there  is  of  it,"  he  said. 

The  room  was  small  and  pitch  dark. 

Nielson  lit  a  match  and  looked  about.  There 
was  a  little  window  on  the  court,  thick  with  dust 
and  dirt.  He  tried  the  door  to  the  kitchen  stairs. 
It  was  locked. 

"Is  it  sound  proof?"  he  asked  and  pointed  to 
the  ceiling. 

"As  the  grave,"  affirmed  Hansen  and  added: 
"You  are  a  careful  man,  brother-in-law." 

"Yes,  careful,"  smiled  Nielsen  with  a  nod,  "but 
not  afraid,  as  are  some  others  who  daren't  open 
[14] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

the  door  for  their  own  sister,  for  fear  that  it  might 
he  a  detective." 

"You  haven't  three  years  behind  you,  brother," 
grumbled  the  cobbler,  "and  I  don't  want  to  do  it 
again,  the  devil  take  me.  It's  a  real  hell  for  my 
lungs."  The  cobbler  coughed. 

"Isn't  the  Old  One  going  soon?"  asked  Nielsen. 

"I'll  get  him  on  his  way,"  promised  the  cobbler. 

"Let's  go  in  again,"  said  the  printer. 

As  they  stepped  into  the  back-room,  the  Old  One 
stood  swaying  with  the  cognac  bottle  in  his  hand, 
and  had  nearly  emptied  it.  Elly  was  ready  to 
die  with  laughter  at  him. 

"God!  how  delightful  he  is!  He  drank  it  as  if 
it  was  fresh  milk." 

Hansen  tore  the  flask  from  his  hand. 

"The  old  swine,"  he  snapped. 

"Put  him  on  the  bed,"  proposed  Nielsen,  and  ex- 
amined the  shop  carefully. 

The  cobbler  and  Elly  dragged  the  Old  One  over 
to  the  bed. 

" — A  man,  with  whom  His  Majesty  has 
talked  and — "  muttered  the  cobbler's  worthy 
father. 

Elly  giggled. 

"Now  he  is  serving  that  up  to  us  again." 

They  threw  him  onto  the  bed. 
[15] 


TWO    DEAD   MEN 

"What  kind  of  a  cupboard  is  this?"  they  heard 
Nielsen  say  out  in  the  shop. 

The  cobbler  went  out  and  opened  the  cupboard. 
It  was  empty. 

"Be  so  good  as  to  look,  brother-in-law,"  said 
he  and  then  slammed  it  demonstratively  shut. 
"Either  you  are  an  amateur  or  else  pretty  damn 
careful." 

"Suppose  I  were  both,"  said  Nielsen  laughing 
shortly. 

"Then  I  should  fear,"  answered  the  cobbler 
somewhat  scornfully,  "that  we  would  not  make  so 
many  coups  together,  such  as  you  have  proposed 
to  me  through  Elly." 

"If  you  are  not  too  much  of  a  coward,  we  shall 
start  this  very  evening,"  said  Nielsen,  "and  there's 
big  money  to  be  made." 

They  had  gone  into  the  back-room  again  and 
had  seated  themselves  about  the  table.  Elly  filled 
their  glasses.  Now  and  then  as  she  looked  at 
Nielsen,  there  came  into  her  eyes  a  gleam  as  of  un- 
veiled and  passionate  love — and  of  anxiety. 

The  cobbler  looked  down  into  his  glass. 

"It  is  all  right  about  the  money,"  he  remarked, 
"and  both  the  shoe  business  and  the  straight  and 
narrow  is  not  worth  that!  There's  nothing  in  it 

[16] 


TWO    DEAD   MEN 

— I  can't  make  it  go  that  way.     But  I  won't  get 
in  again.     I'll  croak  if  I  get  shut  up." 

"You  won't  get  shut  up,"  said  Nielsen  shortly. 
"When  you  work  with  me,  you  risk  nothing." 

"May  I  ask  then,  why  you  don't  work  alone?" 
asked  the  cobbler  suspiciously. 

Nielsen  slowly  emptied  his  glass. 

"I'll  tell  you  why.  This  work  demands  both 
body  and  soul.  And  I  can  offer  the  soul  only." 

The  cobbler  whistled  in  comprehensive  irony. 

"You  mean  then,  that  I  should  face  the  music  if 
things  go  wrong.  Fine.  All  you'd  have  to  do 
would  be  to  lie  your  way  out  of  it.  Or  have  I 
misunderstood  you?" 

Nielsen  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"In  one  way  you've  misunderstood  me,  in  an- 
other, no.  I  will  be  the  brain,  and  you  shall  be 
the  hands  that  untie  the  hard  knots.  You'll  get 
half  the  swag. 

"But  mark  you — if  you  try  to  bunko  or  double- 
cross  me,  you'll  find  it'll  go  hard  with  you.  I 
have  a  certain,  dead-sure  way  for  handling  that 
kind  of  case" — Hansen  rather  squirmed  in  his 
chair,  and  opened  his  mouth  as  though  to  speak, 
but  was  silent. 

"But  perhaps  you  would  rather  work  entirely  on 
[17] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

your  own,  or  with  your  pals  of  the  old  days.     It  is, 
of  course,  a  bit  risky,  but — " 

The  printer  did  not  finish.  He  sat  and  watched 
Hansen  with  his  peculiar  look,  that  seemed  to  bore 
through  one. 

The  cobbler  had  always  had  bad  luck  when  he 
worked  alone,  though  a  clever  man  in  his  own  line, 
and  he  had  long  ago  parted  from  his  comrades. 

Therefore  he  said  simply:  "I  agree." 

Nielsen  nodded  curtly. 

"You  are  a  sensible  man,  Hansen." 

Over  in  the  bed,  the  Old  One  stirred. 

" — A  man  whom  His  Majesty — "  he  mumbled 
and  began  again  his  lusty  snoring. 

"We  start  tonight,  then?"  said  the  cobbler  and 
emptied  his  glass. 

"Yes,  now,  tonight,"  replied  Nielsen  in  a  queer 
ceremonious  way.  His  eyes  met  Elly's  for  an  in- 
stant. Her  eyes  fell. 

"Well,  out  with  it,"  harried  the  cobbler. 

Nielsen  leaned  whisperingly  towards  him. 

"Now,  get  this  carefully — " 

He  talked  for  a  long  time,  often  interrupted 
by  the  cobbler.  Elly  listened  closely,  and  with 
deeply  interested  eyes.  Now  and  then  she  sipped 
at  her  glass. 

The  light  from  the  chipped  shade  fell  remorse- 
[18] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

lessly  upon  the  three  set  and  tense  faces,  so  dis- 
similar, and  yet  so  alike  in  criminal  ecstasy. 
•          •••••• 

A  short  time  afterward  a  burglary  was  com- 
mitted in  one  of  Copenhagen's  best-known  jewellery 
concerns,  which  in  a  month's  time  was  followed  by 
another. 

During  the  summer  and  autumn  four  more  rob- 
beries occurred,  quite  as  mysterious  as  the  first, 
evidently  executed  by  the  same  criminals.  The 
police  were  at  a  loss  either  to  prevent  them,  or  to 
find  any  solution  when  they  occurred. 

Then  the  robberies  suddenly  ceased. 


[19] 


CHAPTER  1 

A  STORM  had  been  raging  over  the  city  all 
afternoon  and  evening. 
Arne  Falk  sat  writing.     It  was  late. 
Suddenly  tKe  outer  door-bell  rang.     He  looked  up 
from  his  work,  glancing  at  the  clock.     It  was  half • 
past  eleven.     His  house-keeper  and  the  maid  had 
gone  to  bed  long  ago. 

He  laid  the  manuscript,  some  notes  on  criminal 
statistics,  aside,  and  went  out  to  open  the  door. 

It  was  Preben  Miller,  the  author. 

"Good  evening,"  said  Falk  with  a  smile,  "I 
thought  you  were  terribly  angry  with  me." 

"Oh,  because  of  that  note  you  wouldn't  in- 
dorse?" said  Miller,  hanging  up  his  hat  and  stick. 
"Bosh!  A  little  thing  like  that  doesn't  bother  me." 

"Thank  the  Lord,"  sighed  Falk  ironically,  "but 
come  in  where  it's  warm.'1' 

Mjiller  followed  him. 

"I  come,  really,"  he  said,  "to  take  you  along 
on  a  slumming  tour.  My  'Darkest  Copenhagen' 
lacks  a  chapter  with  the  heading  'Behind  the 
Scenes  in  the  Dance  Hells,'  or  something  like  that. 
And  Figaro  is  wide  open  tonight." 

[20] 


TWO    DEAD   MEN 

Falk  looked  at  him  in  comic  despair. 

"You're  much  too  greedy!  For  the  last  nine 
months  Fve  been  introducing  you  to  all  the  crooks 
of  Copenhagen  who  amount  to  anything.  You 
know  their  hiding  places  and  all  their  tricks. 
And  now  you  want  the  dregs  of  the  dance  halls 
too! 

"Let's  put  it  off  till  another  evening,  old  fellow. 
Let's  have  a  little  whisky  and  a  talk  here  instead. 
Why  it's  snowing  and  storming  outside,  worse  than 
it  ever  did  in  any  self-respecting  December!" 

Miller  lit  a  cigar. 

"It  stopped  snowing  half  an  hour  ago,"  he  said. 
"The  storm  has  let  up  too." 

Falk  looked  out.  It  was  moonlight  with  a 
crackling  frost. 

"And  where's  your  overcoat?"  he  demanded, 
turning  to  his  friend. 

"I'm  toughening  myself,"  smiled  the  writer,  and 
straightened  his  rather  stooping  shoulders,  "and  be- 
sides my  winter  coat  is  in  hock  somewhere.  I 
have  only  my  old  one  to  wear,  and  I  hate  like  the 
deuce  to  risk  my  reputation  as  the  best  dressed 
man  in  town.  We  all  have  our  little  weaknesses." 

Falk  put  out  the  light. 

"You  are  a  silly  ass,"  he  said  to  Miller,  pulling 
on  his  overcoat.  "You're  one  of  the  best  of  our 
[21] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 
myriad  scribblers,  and  you're  as  prolific  as  a  rat — " 

" — and  in  spite  ol  that  always  broke,"  con- 
tinued Miller  with  a  sigh,  and  went  down  the  stairs 
followed  by  Falk. 

"And  why?"  asked  the  latter. 

"Ask  my  tailor  and  my  favourite  waiter,"  said 
Miller  languidly.  He  had  an  odd,  lazy  way  of 
speaking,  and  gave  the  general  impression  of  being 
rather  easy-going. 

"And  your  uncles,"  Falk  went  on,  "and  your 


women." 


"Suppose  we  stop  there,"  suggested  Miller. 
"Anyway,  you're  a  good  one  to  preach." 

Falk  ignored  the  insinuation. 

"Why  don't  you  make  a  good  match?"  he  asked. 

Miller  smiled,  so  that  his  gleaming  white  but 
false  front  teeth  were  visible.  His  own  had  been 
knocked  out  in  a  coasting  accident  at  Dalarne  in 
Sweden. 

"Why?  Now  you  are  talking.  Who  in  the 
wide  world  would  have  me?" 

"Ada  Stock,  for  example.  There  are  others  be- 
sides myself  who  have  been  hoping  that  you  two 
would  make  a  match  of  it.  She  is  the  daughter 
of  your  late  father's  best  friend — you  have  known 
each  other  from  childhood,  and  then,  Captain 
Stock  is  quite  wealthy — " 

[22] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I,  too — "  sighed  Miller,  "hoped  one  time — 
well,  you  know. 

"She  has,  you  see,  become  engaged  today. 
Not  that  my  heart  is  broken.  But  undeniably 
it  is,  what  one  in  certain  circles — which  you  have 
done  me  the  honour  of  acquainting  me  with — 
would  call  a  black  eye." 

"Whom  is  she  engaged  to?"  asked  Falk  with 
surprise. 

"To  Lange,  Einar  Lange." 

"Oh,  the  Futurist!  How  did  he  meet  the 
Stocks?" 

"Well,  Ada  has  artistic  leanings.  She  has 
studied  under  him.  He  told  me  himself  about  the 
engagement  this  very  evening.  I  took  a  little  run 
up  to  see  old  Saabye.  Lange  came  just  as  I  was 
about  to  leave." 

"Isn't  Saabye  his  foster-father?" 

"Yes,  he  has  been  a  father  to  him  since  Lange 
at  seventeen  entered  the  Academy,  which  he  now 
so  heartily  detests." 

"Wasn't  there  a  bit  of  a  row  between  them  about 
a  year  ago?" 

"Yes,  Lange  wanted  to  marry  a  girl  who  did 
not  suit  his  foster-father's  taste.  And  Saabye  isn't 
the  man  to  keep  his  opinions  to  himself.  There 
is  nothing  wrong  with  his  intellect  either. 

[23] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"The  girl  had  the  lad  going  pretty  strong,  was 
pretty  expensive,  and  a  Vestal  Virgin  she  certainly 
was  not!  Old  Saabye  prophesied  that  it  would 
come  to  no  good,  and  said  right  out  that  if  Einar 
was  bound  on  making  himself  a  laughing-stock  he 
was  not  going  to  do  it  on  his  money  at  any  rate, 
etc.,  etc." 

"And  did  Lange  rage?" 

"Of  course!  He  was  young,  barely  thirty,  and 
as  temperamental  as  a  Southerner.  He  told 
Saabye  to  go  to  the  Devil." 

"But  he  didn't  marry  the  girl,  then?" 

"No,  she  didn't  really  care  for  him  anyway. 
When  he  couldn't  get  any  more  money  out  of  the 
old  man,  she  gave  him  the  gate.  And  Lange  didn't 
commit  suicide  on  her  account." 

"Who  was  she?"  asked  Falk. 

"A  child  of  the  people,"  smiled  Miller.  "Gen- 
uine Saxo  street.  But  a  remarkable  woman,  with 
an  uncanny  attractiveness  to  men.  Large,  bloom- 
ing, and  blond.  And  with  the  same  shining  fresh 
exterior  that  a  worm-eaten  fruit  can  have — " 

"You  seem  to  know  her,"  smiled  Falk. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  do.  Of  course,  I  can't  think 
of  her  as  a  wife  but — " 

"What  is  her  name?" 

[24] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Elly!     Elly     Hansen — strictly     lower-class — 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  she's  behaving  quite  well  lately, 
and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  the  cause  of  it. 
"God  help  me,  I  think  she's  in  love  with  me,  old 


man." 


"Yes,  miracles  still  happen,"  smiled  Falk  a 
little  maliciously. 

They  turned  down  Vesterbro's  Passage. 

"And  so  Lange  is  all  fixed  with  Ada  Stock,"  con- 
tinued Falk,  "and  does  the  match  suit  the  old 
man?" 

"Yes,  he  is  all  sunshine.  Old  Saabye,  that  is. 
Because  Stock  senior  is  probably  less  enthusiastic 
about  it.  He  counts  only  army  officers  as  human 
beings,  and  understands  absolutely  nothing  of 
Futurism." 

"Neither  do  I,  thank  the  Lord,"  interjected  Falk. 

"And  even  if  Lange,"  continued  Miller,  "has 
talent  (as  he,  as  a  matter-of-fact,  is  said  to  have! 
What  young  painter  is  not  full  of  talent?)  he 
doesn't  earn  very  much  by  it. 

"I  can't  help  wondering,"  he  remarked  almost 
peevishly,  "how  a  cool  lady  like  Ada  Stock  can 
go  and  fall  in  love  with  an  anarchistic  individual 
like  Lange  who  goes  around  with  baggy  trousers 
and  no  cuffs." 

[25] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Falk  smiled. 

"Do  the  Stocks  know  anything  about  Lange's 
former  relation  to  Elly  Hansen?" 

"Are  you  mad?"  Miller  stared  at  him,  as- 
tounded. "Yes,  Ada,  maybe,  or  the  mother  at  a 
pinch!  But  the  father!  He  is  as  prudish  as  an 
old  maid.  His  ideas  about  I.  0.  U.'s,  and  the 
erotic  are  on  a  par  with  the  moral  standards  of  a 
Ladies'  Aid  Society." 

"Isn't  he  a  bit  stingy,  too?" 

"Stingy!  That's  not  the  word  for  it,"  said  Mil- 
ler, shaking  his  head  in  denial. 

"His  wife  fights  a  constant  battle  to  get  enough 
money  to  run  the  house.  But  when  it  comes  to 
militarism,  then  his  generosity  borders  on  the  in- 
sane. If  I  judge  him  right,  Lange  himself  will 
have  to  pay  for  the  whole  outfitting,  unless  he 
wants  machine-guns  in  the  living  room  and  cannon 
in  the  bed  chamber." 

"Maybe  you  can  introduce  him  to  your  money- 
lenders," laughed  Falk. 

"Oh,  no,  I  have  more  than  use  for  them  myself," 
sighed  Miller  and  a  shudder  passed  through  him. 
"Besides, — I  am  freezing." 

They  had  reached  the  corner  of  the  street  where 
Preben  Miller  lived. 

[26] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Run  up  and  put  your  coat  on,"  Falk  advised 
him.  "I'll  wait  for  you." 

Miller  reflected.     Falk  smiled  a  bit  scornfully. 

"You  won't  meet  any  of  your  imposing  acquain- 
tances tonight." 

Miller  still  hesitated: 

"I  really  cast  it  off  a  year  ago.  And  the  cut  is 
quite  out  of  style — oh,  well,  the  deuce  with  it!" 

He  unlocked  the  door  and  went  in.  Falk  went 
back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  house.  There  were 
only  a  few  people  on  the  street,  and  the  moonlight 
made  it  seem  still  more  deserted,  the  snow  still 
whiter. 

He  sauntered  over  to  the  other  side,  saw  a  light 
flare  up  in  his  friend's  room,  and  go  out  an  instant 
afterwards.  Four  or  five  minutes  passed.  Then 
Miller  opened  the  door.  Falk  went  over  to  him. 
When  he  reached  his  side,  the  author  began  to 
tremble  in  spite  of  his  overcoat. 

"It  is  the  heat  up  in  the  apartment,"  he  said, 


"one  reacts." 


They  went  down  Vesterbro  street. 

"Do  you  suppose  the  Captain  will  give  his  con- 
sent to  the  engagement?"  Falk  continued  their 
interrupted  conversation. 

"He  has  already  given  it,"  said  Miller  and  lit 
[27] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

a  cigarette.  "The  engagement  has  been  officially 
announced.  You'll  find  it  in  the  papers  to- 
morrow, or  the  day  after.  You  see,  Ada  has  a 
wonderful  way  of  handling  the  old  man.  She 
simply  freezes  him  into  obedience.  You  know, 
she's  rather  frigid." 

"Her  mother  has  helped  her,  too,  probably?" 

Miller  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"She's  very  sweet,  this  Mrs.  Stock,  but  she 
hasn't  a  word  to  say  about  anything." 

"It  reminds  me  of  a  proverb,"  said  Falk,  "that 
that  woman  is  a  goose  who  does  not  understand 
how  to  manage  her  husband." 

"Yes,  and  the  one  that  does  not  do  it,"  continued 
Miller,  "a  saint.  It  so  happens  that  she  is 
neither." 

"It's  the  daughter  then — "  began  Falk  but 
stopped  short  and  gripped  Miller  by  the  arm. 
"Isn't  that  Lange?"  he  asked  and  pointed  to  a 
young  man  who  had  wrenched  open  the  door  of 
No.  12,  and  at  that  very  instant  passed  them,  in 
the  middle  of  the  road,  running  swiftly. 

His  clothes  hung  on  him  as  if  he  had  dressed 
in  furious  haste.  His  shoestrings  were  untied,  his 
vest  unbuttoned  and  his  tie  fluttered  wildly.  He 
was  without  his  overcoat  despite  the  frost. 

"Yes,  that's  he,"  Miller  broke  out,  astounded, 
[28] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

and  looked  after  him.  He  was  already  down  near 
Old  Kingsway.  "The  Lord  knows  what's  the  mat- 
ter with  him.  His  face  was  quite  pale — did  you 
notice  it?" 

Falk  nodded. 

"Does  Saabye  live  there?"  he  asked,  and 
pointed  to  No.  12. 

"Yes,  and  Lange  was  to  stay  there  tonight  on 
account  of  the  bad  weather,"  explained  Miller. 
"He  lives  away  out  in  Hellerup,  and  there  are  no 
taxis  out  tonight." 

They  stopped  outside  the  street  door.  Miller 
stepped  back  several  paces,  and  looked  up. 
Everything  was  dark  at  Saabye's. 

"He  didn't  even  have  time  to  light  the  hall- 
light,"  substantiated  Falk. 

"Let  us  go  up,"  proposed  Miller. 

They  went  in  by  the  front  door.  Falk  lit  the 
light.  On  one  of  the  lower  steps  lay  something 
which  he  bent  over  and  picked  up.  He  handed 
it  to  Miller. 

"Do  you  recognize  this?" 

"That's  his  stick-pin.  He  must  have  lost  it  as 
he  ran  down  the  stairs." 

"And  why  such  wild  haste?"  grunted  Falk,  "and 
why  did  he  seem  so  excited?" 

The  author  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
[29] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Who  knows?" 

They  went  up  the  stairs.  Falk  examined  every 
step  without,  however,  finding  anything. 

Saabye  lived  on  the  second  floor.  When  they 
had  reached  it,  the  hall-light  went  out.  Falk  lit 
it  again.  The  hall  door  stood  wide  open. 

"That's  not  at  all  like  Saabye,"  said  Miller,  as- 
tonished, and  shook  his  head. 

Falk  preceded  him  into  the  corridor.  The  door 
of  the  study  was  also  open.  They  both  saw  the 
fire-light  from  the  old-fashioned  porcelain  stove 
rest  like  a  dull  gold  covering  on  the  thick 
Smyrna  carpet  that  reached  almost  to  the  thresh- 
old. 

"Where's  the  switch?"  asked  Falk  as  he  stepped 
into  the  room,  followed  by  Miller. 

The  latter,  accustomed  to  the  house,  turned  it  on. 
The  room  in  an  instant  lay  bathed  in  a  cosy,  dark 
yellow  light.  A  bed  had  been  made  up  on  the 
sofa  but  the  bedclothes  lay  in  fantastic  disorder, 
as  if  Lange,  who  doubtless  had  lain  there,  had  been 
torn  from  his  bed  or  else  had  left  it  in  nervous 
haste. 

"We'd  better  wake  Saabye,"  said  Falk.  "Some- 
thing or  other  has  happened  here.  Where's  his 
bedroom?" 

[30] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Miller  reflected  a  moment. 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  about  it,"  he  said,  "because 
I  have  never  been  in  any  other  room  but  this.  But 
I  think  it  is  at  the  end  of  this  corridor." 

He  opened  the  door  to  a  long,  carpeted  hall,  and 
found,  after  some  searching,  a  switch  there,  and 
threw  it  on. 

"Where  does  this  door  to  the  left  lead  to?"  whis- 
pered Falk. 

"Probably  out  to  the  kitchen,  and  to  the  house- 
keeper's rooms." 

"And  what  is  this?" 

Falk  pointed  to  a  wire,  which,  quite  indepen- 
dent of  the  lighting  connection,  ran  along  the  ceil- 
ing to  stop  abruptly  or  rather  disappear  in  the 
wall  of  the  study. 

"I  don't  know,"  and  Miller  shook  his  head. 
Bending  over,  he  picked  something  up: 

"Here  is  a  knife." 

He  handed  it  to  Falk.  The  blade  was  nicked  as 
if  it  had  been  used  to  cut  metal.  Falk  looked  up 
and  followed  the  mysterious  wire  with  his  eyes. 
By  the  door  to  the  study — where  Miller  had  found 
the  knife,  he  discovered  that  the  wire  had  been  cut! 

Falk's  usually  cheerful  face  became  suddenly 
grave. 

[31] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Go  out  and  lock  the  front  door,"  he  bade  softly, 
"and  take  the  key  in  with  you.  I  will  wake 
Saabye  in  the  meantime." 

Miller  disappeared  in  the  study.  Falk  again 
examined  the  wire  where  it  had  been  cut.  He 
carefully  assured  himself  of  its  thickness,  hard- 
ness and  so  on.  He  compared  the  wire  with  the 
knife  and  muttered,  "That  is  strange."  But 
finally  he  abandoned  his  reflections,  and  knocked  on 
the  door  of  Saabye's  room  first  softly,  then  louder 
and  louder. 

No  one  answered. 

Then  he  shouted:  "Hello,  Mr.  Saabye!"  and 
pounded  on  the  door. 

Still  no  answer. 

Then  he  opened  the  door.  Miller  had  in  the 
meantimje  returned.  Falk  held  him  back. 

"Stay  out  here." 

Miller  waited  and  saw  Falk  turn  on  the  light  in 
the  bedroom.  An  instant  later  he  heard  him  utter 
a  low  cry  of  horror.  He  rushed  in — and  recoiled 
horror-stricken. 

Saabye  lay  murdered  in  his  bed!  With  his 
throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear. 

"Ring  up  police  headquarters  and  get  some  one 
down  here,  preferably  Jensen-Skandrup,  if  he  is 
there." 

[32] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Miller  staggered  through  the  corridor  into  the 
study  where  the  telephone  was. 

Falk  bent  over  the  dead  man.  He  had  been 
murdered  beyond  the  slightest  doubt.  And  the 
slash  had  been  made  by  a  sure  hand.  He  had  bled 
to  death  almost  instantaneously. 

Falk  looked  inquiringly  about. 

On  the  floor  before  the  bureau  lay  Saabye's 
pocket  knife,  keys,  and  watch.  The  criminal  had, 
no  doubt,  dropped  them  in  his  haste. 

He  looked  at  the  watch.  It  had  stopped  at  fif- 
teen minutes  of  twelve.  It  was  now  twelve  o'clock. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  Saabye  had  been  mur- 
dered ! 

Falk  examined  the  watch  closely.  To  all  ap- 
pearances it  had  been  wound  for  the  night  and  had 
stopped  only  owing  to  the  jar  it  had  sustained 
when  it  fell. 

He  heard  Miller  come  back,  and  appearing  to 
hesitate  as  he  stepped  into  the  bedroom. 

"They'll  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  said, 
and  avoided  the  corpse  with  his  eyes. 

Falk  smiled  involuntarily.  Miller  had  always 
talked  scornfully  of  people  who  could  not  stand 
blood  nor  the  sight  of  a  corpse. 

"Here  is  a  safe,"  said  his  friend. 

Falk  nodded. 

[33] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I  was  just  about  to  look  it  over." 

He  examined  it  minutely.  It  was  locked. 
Miller  stood  and  stared  at  it.  Falk  noticed  the 
sweat  on  his  forehead,  and  how  pale  his  face  was. 

"I  think  you  had  better — ,"  he  began  but  stopped 
suddenly  with  a:  "Shh!" 

Both  were  still.  They  heard  a  door  creak  out 
in  the  corridor  leading  to  the  bedroom.  Falk  tip- 
toed to  the  door — and  stood  face  to  face  with  a 
pudgy,  elderly  woman  in  negligee. 

She  moaned  as  she  saw  him.  Her  face  became 
fixed  and  wooden  with  fright.  To  save  her  life 
she  could  not  have  moved  a  muscle. 

Despite  the  tragedy  behind  him,  Falk  had  to 
smile.  His  smile  unlocked  her  terror.  She 
shrieked. 

"Thieves!  Thieves!  Help!  Help!"  she  shrilled, 
and  was  about  to  disappear  in  the  room  behind 
her  when  Falk  reassuringly  put  his  hand  on  her 
arm: 

"We  are  no  thieves,"  said  he,  "we  are  friends 
of  your  master." 

But  she  screamed  steadily  on:  "Thieves!"  and 
tore  her  arm  away:  "Help,  help!" 

Falk  gripped  her  by  the  wrist. 

"Stop  your  yelling  now,"  he  said.  "You're  the 
house-keeper,  aren't  you?" 

[34] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

She  nodded  wildly.  Her  eyes  wandered  irreso- 
lutely. 

"A  dreadful  thing  has  happened,"  said  Falk. 
Just  then  Miller  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the 
bedroom. 

"Shut  the  door,"  Falk  said  to  him.  Miller  did 
so. 

The  house-keeper  glanced  at  the  door  in  terror. 
Then  she  shut  her  eyes,  and  seemed  about  to  faint. 
Falk  supported  her. 

"He  is  dead,  my  poor  master  is  dead." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  Falk  looked  at  her 
sharply. 

"I  had  a  frightful  dream,"  she  groaned.  "I 
was  gathering  up  money.  Heaps  of  money.  In 
the  mire  and  slush.  That  means  misfortune.  Oh, 
I  knew  it  the  minute  I  woke  up.  Misfortune  on 
this  house." 

Falk  tried  to  calm  her. 

"Didn't  you  hear  any  noise  or  screaming  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago?"  he  asked. 

She  again  shook  her  head. 

"Where  is  your  bedroom?" 

"  'Way  out  by  the  kitchen,"  she  stammered 
finally. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  and  burst  out  appre- 
hensively: "But  Mr.  Lange  must  have — " 
[35] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"We  met  him  running  away  from  here  as  we 
came,"  Falk  interrupted. 

She  stared  horror-stricken  at  him. 

"Running  away!     Running  away!" 

Falk  nodded. 

"He  did  it,"  she  whispered  suddenly  and  shud- 
dered. "He  did  it." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"He  has  such  a  hasty  temper.  I'll  never  forget 
one  night  last  year  when  he  and  the  master  quar- 
reled. He  all  but  struck  him.  I  saw  it  myself, 
and  thank  God  that  he  stayed  away  from  here  after 
that." 

"But  what  makes  you  think  that  he  should  have 
gone  so  far  just  this  very  evening  when  he  came 
to  be  reconciled  to  your  master?" 

The  house-keeper's  eyes  still  wavered  from 
fright  but  she  nodded  secretively: 

"He  came  up  here  for  quite  another  reason." 

"Which?" 

"To  borrow  money  of  the  master." 

"And  you  think  that  your  master  refused?  He 
wasn't  ordinarily  considered  a  stingy  man." 

The  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Rosenkvist,  hesitated  a 
little  before  she  answered. 

"I  think  he  did,  however,"  she  said.  "Maybe 
he  asked  for  too  large  a  sum." 

[36] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Did  your  master  usually  keep  large  amounts  of 
money  here?"  asked  Falk. 

"No,  he  always  put  it  in  the  bank  the  same  day 
that  it  was  paid  to  him.  You  know,  he  owned  this 
house,  and  the  house  next  door,  the  poor  dead  mas- 
ter! But  today  he  couldn't  deposit  it.  He  had 
a  bit  of  a  cold,  and  the  weather  was  so  dreadful. 
Oh,  God!  Oh,  God!"  she  moaned  in  her  fright- 
ened way  again  and  stared  fearfully  at  the  bed- 
room door.  There  was  a  slight  pause. 

"Do  you  know  the  combination  for  the  safe?" 
Falk  asked  suddenly. 

She  started  as  if  he  had  touched  an  open  wound. 
She  could  only  nod  affirmatively. 

"Perhaps  you  have  put  money  in  it  for  your 
master  now  and  then?"  asked  Falk.  She  nodded 
again. 

"Do  you  know  Lange?" 

She  nodded  for  the  third  time. 

"Do  you  know  where  the  keys  are?" 

"Yes,"  she  managed  to  say:  "The  master  always 
carried  them  in  his  pocket,  the  poor,  poor — " 

Falk  opened  the  door  to  the  bedroom. 

"Do  me  the  favour,"  he  bade  her,  "of  opening 
the  safe  for  us." 

She  merely  stared  at  him  as  if  he  were  mad, 
and  clutched  the  knob  of  the  door  she  was  stand- 
[37] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

ing  by.     Not  for  all  the  world  would  she  go  in 
that  room. 

"Take  a  towel,"  Said  Falk  to  Miller,  "and  put 
it  over  his  face." 

Miller  went  into  the  room. 

"Come  on  then,"  said  Falk  to  the  house-keeper, 
"there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  now." 

She  reluctantly  let  go  of  the  door  knob,  and 
followed  him  into  the  bedroom,.  She  did  not  look 
towards  the  side  where  the  bed  stood  although  she 
fairly  tingled  with  fearful  curiosity. 

Falk  found  the  keys  at  once,  and  handed  them  to 
her: 

"Now,  open  the  safe." 

She  obeyed  mechanically.  Several  seconds 
passed,  funereal  in  their  silence.  Then  the  door 
of  the  safe  sprang  open. 

"The  money's  gone,"  she  cried,  and  began  to  sob 
hysterically. 

"Are  you  sure  that  Saabye  didn't  put  it  in  his 
pocket-book?"  asked  Falk.  "Take  a  look,  Miller." 

She  shook  her  head  vigorously  and  sobbed : 

"I  was  in  here  myself  making  the  bed  when  the 
master  put  it  in  the  safe.  There  was  about  4000 
kroner." 

"There  is  only  about  50  kroner  in  the  pocket- 
book  now,"  asserted  Miller. 

[38] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"We  must  search  the  premises,"  said  Falk 
firmly.  "You  go  first,"  he  ordered  the  house- 
keeper, who  still  sniffling,  hurried  out  into  the 
corridor. 

Miller  followed  her  silently.  Falk  put  out  the 
light. 

"It  is  the  burglar  alarm  from  the  safe  that  has 
been  cut,"  he  said  to  Miller,  and  pointed  to  the 
wire  over  in  the  corner  of  the  corridor.  "I  was 
blind  before  or  feebleminded." 

Mrs.  Rosenkvist's  two  rooms  and  the  kitchen 
were  hurriedly  searched.  However,  nothing  of 
any  interest  appeared.  It  was  clear  that  no  one 
but  the  house-keeper  had  occupied  them. 

"Just  stay  in  here,"  Falk  proposed,  "and  try  to 
be  a  little  mjore  calm.  We  can  expect  the  police 
any  moment.  If  your  presence  is  needed,  you 
will  be  sent  for." 

The  house-keeper  looked  at  him  timidly.  She 
was  comparatively  quiet,  however,  when  they  left 
her. 

"This  room  we  haven't  searched  at  all,"  said 
Falk  as  they  stepped  into  the  study.  "For  once, 
Mister  Author,  you're  on  the  spot  of  the  crime. 
Use  your  eyes — but  what  is  this?" 

Falk  bent  over  and  picked  up  a  crumpled  bit  of 
paper. 

[39] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"A  ten  kroner  note!"  he  unfolded  it,  "and 
bloody." 

"There's  something,  too,"  said  Miller,  and 
pointed  to  a  couple  of  half -charred  notes  that  lay 
before  the  stove.  Evidently  they  had  fallen  out 
of  the  fire  onto  the  floor. 

"If  it  was  Lange  who  did  this,"  said  Falk, 
"everything  seems  to  indicate  that  either  he  was 
seized  by  a  fear  of  being  discovered  or  else  by  hor- 
ror at  his  deed.  First  he  threw  the  bills  into  the 
fire,  then  rushed  insanely  away.  To  get  away  at 
all  cost!" 

Falk  fell  suddenly  on  his  knees: 

"A-ah,  lift  the  lamp  a  little,"  he  commanded. 
Miller  did  so  immediately.  The  carpet  had  a 
grey-blue  ground  colour.  Consequently  the  spots 
that  dotted  it  could  be  seen  quite  clearly.  Some 
spots  were  yet  moist.  They  reached  from  the 
wash-stand,  which  had  been  converted  from  a 
card  table,  over  to  the  writing  desk. 

Close  by  this  the  spots  stopped,  but  Falk  dis- 
covered instantly  the  continuation  of  them. 

"Here  we  have  them  again,"  he  showed  Miller 
who,  deeply  engrossed,  followed  his  investigation. 
He  pointed  to  a  sheet  of  paper  lying  on  the  desk. 
This  too  was  spotted: 

"And  the  water  is  bloody,"  said  Falk  as  he  used 
[40] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

his  magnifying  glass,  "and  the  shelf,  too,  is  wet — 
and  the  lip  of  the  vase  here." 

It  was  a  Japanese  vase  that  stood  on  top  of  one 
of  the  desk's  pigeon  holes.  Falk,  lightning-like, 
plunged  his  hand  in  it,  and  pulled  it  out  again. 

"Here  is  the  instrument  of  murder,"  he  said  tri- 
umphantly, and  showed  Miller  a  blood  bespattered 
razor.  "Since  the  murderer  left  it  here,  it  must  be 
Saabye's  own  razor." 

Miller  regarded  it  with  something  closely  ap- 
proaching horror. 

"I  wouldn't  finger  it  too  much,"  warned  Falk 
and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that!"  and  Miller 
made  a  most  comical  grimace. 

Falk  bent  over  the  improvised  wash-stand: 

"He  washed  his  hands  afterwards,"  he  affirmed. 
"The  towel  is  still  quite  damp — and  bloody." 

He  ceased  his  examination  abruptly.  "That's 
strange,"  he  muttered,  but  went  on  with  it  almost 
instantly,  "and  here  is  blood  on  the  edge  of  the 
wash  basin.  I  wonder  where — ?" 

Falk  took  the  cover  off  the  slop  pail.  "Hm!  I 
thought  as  much,'''  he  smiled,  "he  didn't  use  that." 

Falk  looked  around  the  room.  Over  by  the 
window  stood  a  large  potted  plant.  He  nodded 
almost  jovially: 

[41] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 
"I'll  bet  anything,"  said  he,  "that  the  earth 
around  that  plant  is  soaking  wet,  even  if  it  is  a 
fortnight  since  our  lovable  house-keeper  watered 


it." 


Miller  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  and  stuck 
his  finger  in  the  soil,  but  drew  it  quickly  out  again: 

"You're  right,"  he  gasped,  quite  grey  in  the 
face. 

"Did  you  burn  yourself?"  smiled  Falk.  "But, 
look  here,  for  God's  sake,  you're  not  going  to 
faint?" 

Miller  wiped  his  brow.  He  was,  indeed,  sway- 
ing, but  regained  self-control  and  tried  to  smile: 

"You  must  really  excuse  me,  but  I'm  a  little  less 
used  to  murder  than  you  are — and  when  I 
stuck — " 

He  stopped  abruptly.  The  front  door  bell 
shrilled  loudly,  again  and  again. 

"That  is  not  the  police,"  said  Falk  astounded. 

Miller  and  he  stood  for  several  seconds  staring 
silently  at  each  other.  The  ringing  became  more 
and  more  persistent. 

"Who  in  the  world—,"  Falk  looked  as  if  he 
sought  in  vain  to  solve  a  riddle.  A  riddle  whose 
solution  was  a  point  of  honour  with  him.  Then  he 
seemed  to  give  it  up,  and  went  out  in  the  corridor 
and  opened  the  door. 

[42] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 
Miller  heard  him  utter  a  cry  of  amazement. 
Falk  stood  as  if  paralyzed,  with  his  hand  on  the 
door  knob.     Miller,  too,  stiffened  with  surprise. 

The  light  was  lit  in  the  hall.  It  was  no  hallu- 
cination they  saw  before  them,  and  they  were  both 
sober.  And  yet  for  a  moment  they  doubted  their 
own  sight  and  reason!  The  person  who  had 
rung  was  no  other  than  Lange,  Einar  Lange,  the 
artist! 

The  murderer? 


[43] 


CHAPTER  II 

LANGE  looked  at  them  in  utter  perplexity. 
"I  don't  understand — ,"  he  began  halt- 
ingly. 

His  eyes  were  anxious  despite  their  surprised 
look,  and  he  panted  as  if  from  running. 

Falk  quietly  shut  the  door  behind  him: 

"Let  us  go  inside,"  he  proposed. 

"Your  friend  Mr.  Miller  persuaded  me  to  come 
up  here  with  him.  My  name  is  Arne  Falk.  We 
saw  you  rush  away,  and  as  you  seemed  so  ex- 
cited—" 

Lange  nodded  nervously: 

"It  was  my  sweetheart,"  he  stammered.  "Some- 
one called  up — said  she  was  fatally  ill — I  should 
come  out  at  once — I  jumped  into  my  clothes  and 


ran—" 


Falk  listened  attentively,  and  sat  with  half -shut 


eyes. 

"And  was  reassured?"  he  asked. 


Lange  shook  his  head  negatively. 

"The  door  was  locked,"  he  said,  "and  the  whole 

[44] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

house  was  dark.     Then  I  hurried  back  to  tele- 
phone to  ask  if  she  was  any  better — " 

He  looked  at  Falk  and  Miller  as  if  he  expected 
that  they  would  go.  The  latter  stood  with  bent 
head  overwhelmed  by  the  painful  situation. 

"Who  called  you  up?"  asked  Falk. 

Lange  regarded  him  with  surprise: 

"It  was,  as  I  told  you  before,  some  one  at  Cap- 
tain Stock's  who  called  me  up." 

"Was  it  the  Captain  himself?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"Who  then?" 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  know,"  answered 
Lange  a  little  impatiently. 

"How  long  have  you  been  calling  at  their 
house?" 

Falk  spoke  so  politely  that  Lange  could  not  but 
answer. 

"For  the  last  nine  months,"  said  he,  "about 
every  day." 

"Have  you  often  talked  with  the  members  of 
the  family  over  the  telephone?" 

"Yes,  very  often  but—" 

"And  yet  you  don't  know  who  called  you  up?" 

Lange  shook  his  head  impatiently. 

"I  didn't  give  it  a  thought  when  I  received  such 
bad  news." 

[451 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Have  you  any  objection  to  my  ringing  up  Cap- 
tain Stock  about  it?  I'll  explain  afterwards  why  I 
have  such  a  deep  interest  in  this  telephoning." 

"No,  go  ahead,"  Lange's  astonishment  appar- 
ently grew  minute  by  minute.  But  it  was  also 
mixed  with  anxiety. 

"What's  their  number?"  asked  Falk. 

"Vester  112,562." 

Falk  rang  and  gave  the  number. 

"Hurry  please!"  he  told  the  operator,  and 
waited.  Some  seconds  passed. 

"Where  is  the  Captain's  telephone  placed?" 
asked  Lange. 

"In  the  living-room — but  at  night  they  move  it 
into  their  bedroom." 

Falk  still  sat  and  waited. 

"That's  rather  strange,  as  it — well,  here  we 
are — hello!  Is  this  Captain  Stock's?  Is  this  the 
Captain  himself?" 

Falk  heard  a  sleepy  voice  roar  out  an  oath  ask- 
ing who  the  devil  it  was  that  dared  to  disturb  him, 
Captain  Stock,  in  his  night's  rest? 

"I  am  calling  from  Mr.  Lange's." 

Falk  heard  a  wordless  grunt. 

"The  Captain  or  his  wife,"  he  said  respectfully 
and  with  a  reserved  smile  at  the  other's  rudeness, 
"called  him  up  barely  a  half  hour  ago  and  told 

[46] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

him  to  hurry  over  as  your  daughter  lay  at  the  point 
of  death—." 

Falk  stopped  a  moment.  He  was  overcome  by 
the  storm  of  indignation  that  raged  over  the  wire. 
Was  somebody  playing  jokes  on  him.  Captain 
Stock!  Somebody  was  crazy,  etc. 

Falk  cut  him  short: 

"You  did  not  ring  then?" 

"No." 

"And  your  daughter  is  not  sick?" 

"No!" 

"Is  there  anything  to  it  at  all  then?" 

"No. 

"If  I  only  could  get  a  night's  rest.  Never  have 
I  heard — "  Then  the  Captain  slammed  up  the 
phone. 

Falk  hung  up  and  turned  towards  Lange  who, 
perplexed,  had  listened  to  the  conversation. 

"He  denies  having  called  you." 

"I  don't  understand  it."  Lange  shook  his  head. 
"But  thank  God  that  Ada  is  well." 

"Have  you  a  telephone  yourself?"  asked  Falk. 

Lange  answered  in  the  negative. 

"Did  Miss  Stock  or  her  parents  or  any  one  else 
at  all  there  in  the  house,  know  that  you  were  going 
to  spend  the  night  with  your  foster-father?" 

"No,  of  course  not.     I  didn't  know  it  myself  be- 
[47] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

cause  father — yes,  I  call  him  father — suggested  it 
himself,  the  weather  being  so  bad." 

"How  could  any  one  at  Stock's,  then,  think  of 
ringing  you  up  here?" 

"No,  that  is  quite  true,"  said  Lange.  "I  hadn't 
thought  of  that.  They  couldn't." 

There  was  a  second's  pause.  Neither  Falk  nor 
Miller  stirred.  Lange  moved  in  embarrassment. 

"Now  that  you  have  cleared  that  up  or  rather — " 
He  stammered  a  little.  He  was  bewildered  and 
there  was  something  in  the  air  that  made  him  ap- 
prehensive. 

"In  other  words,  you  are  asking  us  to  go,"  said 
Falk. 

Lange  nodded  in  relief. 

"It  is  late — and  I  am  afraid  that  we  will  wake 
Mr.  Saabye." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that,"  said  Falk 
drily.  "Mr.  Saabye  will  wake  no  more  in  this 
life." 

Lange  became  as  pale  and  stiff  as  a  corpse.  He 
hardly  breathed.  He  stared  at  Falk.  At  first 
with  fear,  and  little  by  little  more  calmly.  He  wet 
his  lips. 

"Did  I  understand  you  correctly?"  he  asked. 

Falk  nodded:     "Yes,  Mr.  Saabye  is  dead." 

Then  Lange  was  overcome.     Sobs  choked  him. 
[48] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Dead!     Dead!"     He    actually    writhed    in    his 
sorrow. 

Falk  gazed  at  him,  almost  awed. 

If  this  was  acting,  then — 

"I  am  going  in  to  him,"  shouted  Lange  suddenly 
and  ran  to  the  door  opening  on  the  bedroom  corri- 
dor. 

Falk  jumped  in  front  of  him. 

"You're  going  to  stay  here,"  he  ordered. 

Lange's  eyes  blazed: 

"Are  you  mad,  man?  How  dare  you  stop  me, 
me,  his  son — !" 

"Your  foster-father  is  murdered,"  said  Falk  as 
quietly  as  he  could. 

Lange  became  quiet  immediately. 

"Murdered!  Good  God!— who  did  it?  Who 
did  it?" 

Again  his  emotions  gripped  him.  Miller  had  to 
help  Falk  hold  him.  He  would  go  in  to  his  father. 
He  shrieked  and  yelled,  was  like  an  inconsolable 
child.  Suddenly  he  collapsed,  stupid,  powerless. 

Falk  locked  the  door  to  the  corridor. 

"I  have  some  questions  to  ask  you,"  he  said, 
and  turned  to  Lange.  "If  you  will  answer  them?" 

Lange  nodded  dully: 

"When  was — when  did  he  die?"  he  asked  softly. 

"About  a  quarter  to  twelve,"  said  Falk.    "About 
[49] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

five  or  ten  minutes  before  you  were  called  up,  as 
you  say." 

Lange  raised  his  head  incredulously. 

"That  is  impossible!"  he  said. 

He  wet  his  dry  lips  and  broke  down  again. 

"Oh,  poor  father!  poor  father!" 

"When  did  you  go  to  bed?"  asked  Falk  un- 
moved by  the  other's  despair. 

"A  little  before  eleven,"  answered  Lange.  "I 
happen  to  know  it  precisely.  I  always  put  my 
watch,  and  whatever  I  have  in  my  pockets,  aside 
before  I  go  to  bed,  and  I  happened  to  look  at  it 
then." 

"You  insist,  then,  that  you  laid  these  things 
aside  this  evening  also?"  asked  Falk.  "Think  a 
moment." 

"I  laid  them  on  the  table  there,"  explained 
Lange,  who  now  had  become  more  calm  but  was 
terribly  pale:  "my  watch,  a  cigar-clipper,  a  pencil 
and  my  pocket-knife." 

"And  you  have  not  been  outside  the  room  here, 
before  you — after  the  mysterious  telephone  call — 
ran  down  the  stairs?  Not  in  your  foster-father's 
room?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  know  this  knife?"  asked  Falk  and 
[50] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

handed  him  the  knife  he  had  found  in  the  bed- 
room corridor. 

"Yes,  it  is  mine,"  admitted  Lange. 

"How  did  it  get  out  in  the  corridor  leading  to 
Mr.  Saabye's  bedroom  then?" 

Lange  shook  his  head,  completely  at  a  loss,  and 
was  about  to  put  the  folded  pen-knife  in  his  pocket. 
Falk  stopped  him. 

"We'll  let  the  police  have  that,"  said  he.  "By 
the  way,  what  condition  are  its  blades  in?" 

Lange  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"You  can  easily  find  out  yourself  by  opening 
it,"  he  said. 

"Just  now,  I  prefer,"  smiled  Falk,  "to  learn  it 
from  you!" 

Lange  gave  a  shrug. 

"It  has  only  one  blade  and  there  Is  nothing  the 
matter  with  that." 

"Is  it  nicked  at  all?" 

"No,  not  a  bit." 

Falk  showed  him  the  damaged  knife. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Lange.  "The 
blade  was  all  right  when  I  put  it  on  {he  table." 

"Perhaps  you  can  explain  better,"  said  Falk 
somewhat  sharply,  "where  this  smear  of  blood  on 
the  wash  basin  comes  from,  and  why  the  water  is 

[51] 


TWO   DE^AD    MEN 

emptied  not  in  the  slop  pail  but  on  the  potted  plant 
there."     He  pointed  to  the  Pelargonia. 

"I  don't  understand  that  either,"  admitted 
Lange,  and  the  colour  rushed  to  his  face: 

"But  what  business  is  this  of  yours,  anyway? 
Am  I  being  cross-examined?" 

Falk  shook  his  head. 

"No,  not  at  all.  But  you  probably  soon  will  be. 
The  police  ought  to  be  here  soon." 

Lange  became  quiet  at  once. 

"You  talk  to  me,"  he  said  to  Falk,  "as  if  I  were 
a- criminal.  It  can't  be  that  you  are  silly  enough 
to  believe  that  I  am  mixed  up  in  this  crime. 
In  a  vile  crime  against  an  old  man!  And  a  man 
who  has  done  me  all  the  good  in  his  power!  Who 
has  been  a  father  to  me!" 

Falk  looked  at  him  calmly  without  answering. 

Miller  shrugged  his  shoulders  sorrowfully. 
With  a  nervous  laugh,  Lange  took  out  his  hand- 
kerchief to  dry  his  damp  forehead.  All  the  colour 
had  vanished  from  his  face.  "Madness!  Mad- 
ness!" he  mumbled. 

Hardly  had  he  said  it  when  Falk  tore  the  hand- 
kerchief out  of  his  grasp  and  held  it  up  to  the 
light. 

"Look  there!" 

The  three  looked. 

[52] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

It  was  bloody. 

"And  your  coat?"  And  he  drew  the  wellnigh 
nerveless  Lange  over  to  the  light. 

His  light  grey  coat  was  sprinkled  with  large, 
dark  spots! 

Lange  stared  at  them.  He  saw  clearly  that  it 
was  dried  blood.  .  .  .  The  blood  roared  in  his 
ears.  He  felt  consciousness  slipping  away  from 
him.  He  swayed  slightly. 

"Take  hold  of  him!"  cried  Falk  to  Miller  who 
stood  nearest.  Miller  seized  him  but  instantly  let 
go  again,  Lange  fell  to  the  floor. 

"It  was  the  blood,"  stammered  Miller.  "The 
blood  on  his  coat.  This  will  cause  me  many  a 
sleepless  hour.  I  wish  the  deuce  we  had  gone  to 
the  Figaro  instead." 

Falk  had  got  Lange  over  to  the  sofa,  and  was 
bathing  his  temples  with  water  from  the  pitcher. 
Miller  looked  on  silently. 

"Is  Lange  Saabye's  heir?"  asked  Falk  suddenly. 

"Yes,  he  is  the  sole  heir.  Saabye  told  me  so 
this  very  evening  as  we  talked  about  him.  The 
old  man  had  made  no  alteration  in  the  will.  He 
was  a  fine  old  fellow." 

The  front  door  bell  rang,  a  short,  quick  ring. 

"That  is  the  police,"  said  Falk.  "Go  out  and 
open  the  door." 

[53] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

Lange  began  to  stir  as  Inspector  Jensen-Skan- 
drup  and  several  detectives  stepped  in  the  room 
accompanied  by  Miller  and  a  physician,  Dr.  Fed- 
ersen. 

Jensen-Skandrup  nodded  jovially: 

"Still  on  the  job,"  he  said  and  greeted  Falk  re- 
spectfully. 

"Where  is  the  body?"  asked  Dr.  Pedersen. 

"Stay  here  a  minute,"  Falk  told  Preben  Miller. 

One  of  the  detectives  began  to  search  the  room. 

Falk  showed  the  others  into  the  bedroom. 
"Phew!"  grunted  the  Inspector  as  he  saw  the  dead 
man.  "They  certainly  did  a  good  job.  That 
was  made  by  a  sure  hand.  It  didn't  tremble 
much." 

He  accompanied  Falk  out  into  the  corridor. 
The  doctor  began  his  examination,  and  the  men 
from  the  identification  bureau  tried  to  find  finger- 
prints and  so  on. 

"Have  you  any  clues?"  he  asked  Falk. 

"Plenty  of  them,"  answered  the  latter,  and  told 
the  Inspector  of  Lange's  flight  from  the  house,  the 
discovery  of  the  murder,  the  finding  of  the  bloody 
ten  crown  notes,  and  the  blood  spots  on  Lange's 
coat  and  handkerchief. 

"Could  you  wish  any  more  evidence?" 

"No,  that's  clear  enough,"  said  Jensen-Skan- 
[54] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

drup,  "although  it  was  the  Devil  and  not  our  Lord 
who  invented  circumstantial  evidence." 

Falk  nodded  smilingly.  It  was  one  of  his  own 
bon  mots  which  the  Inspector  absent-mindedly  had 
used. 

The  door  to  the  study  opened.  It  was  Preben 
Miller.  "Lange  has  come  to  himself  again,"  he 
said.  "He  wishes  to  talk  to  the  Inspector." 

They  went  in.  Lange  sat  on  the  sofa  looking 
very  bewildered. 

"I  am  Inspector  Jensen-Skandrup,"  said  the  de- 
tective somewhat  harshly.  "You  wish  to  speak 
to  me?" 

Lange  nodded. 

"I  have  a  question  to  ask  you.  Yes,  for  Mr. 
Falk  has  probably  told  you  what  has  happened? — 
Do  you  take  me  for  the  murderer?" 

Jensen-Skandrup  shrugged  his  shoulders: 

"I  really  haven't  formed  any  opinion  of  that 
yet.  I  must,  however,  hold  you  in  custody,  for  it  is 
a  fact  that  you  are  the  only  male  person  outside 
of  the  murdered  man,  who  was  in  the  house  at  the 
time  of  the  crime.  Mr.  Falk  and  his  friend 
searched  the  place  a  few  moments  after  you  ran 
away  from  here  with  a  bloody  coat  and  handker- 
chief. It's  easy  to  see  that  the  kitchen  door  has 
been  locked  since  the  house-keeper  went  to  bed. 
[55] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

And  the  lock  on  the  street  door  can  not  be  opened 
with  false  keys." 

Lange,  perplexed,  sought  a  way  out. 

"Couldn't  the  murderer  have  secured  the  keys  to 
the  front  door?"  he  asked  and  suddenly  thought 
of  something: 

"Mrs.  Rosenkvist,  the  house-keeper,  was  saying 
last  night  that  she  thought  she  had  lost  her  keys. 
Father  was  a  little  angry  about  it,  for  she  is  always 
losing  or  forgetting  something.  He  showed  her  a 
third  bunch  of  keys  that  always  hang  in  the  cor- 
ridor and  gave  her  permission  to  use  them  if  she 
could  not  find  her  own.  But  he  told  her  to  take 
care  of  them.  Mrs.  Rosenkvist  probably  went  out 
yesterday  afternoon.  Maybe  the  murderer  fol- 
lowed and  stole  the  keys  from  her!" 

"Go  in  and  get  the  house-keeper,"  ordered  Jen- 
sen-Skandrup.  The  detective  who  was  searching 
the  room  went  out  into  the  corridor.  They  heard 
him  knock  on  the  door  to  Mrs.  Rosenkvist's  rooms. 

"You  insist  then,"  and  the  Inspector  turned  to 
Lange,  "that  you  slept  right  from  11  o'clock  when 
you  went  to  bed,  until  12  o'clock  when  you  were 
awakened?" 

Lange  nodded:  "Yes!" 

"You  heard  no  noise  of  any  description  from 
your  foster-father's  room?" 

[56] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"No!" 

"The  murderer  must  have  passed  by  this  room 
here — both  going  in  and  back.  You  heard  nothing 
of  him  then?" 

Lange  again  shook  his  head. 

"Neither,"  continued  the  Inspector  with  a  more 
and  more  insinuating  smile,  "when  he  entered  the 
house  or  when  he  left  it?" 

"No,  you  see,  I  sleep  very  heavily,"  explained 
Lange. 

The  Inspector  nodded  with  a  sarcastic  smile. 

"Very  heavily,"  he  repeated. 

"And  yet  I  think  I  was  half  awake  at  some  time 
or  other,"  Lange  recalled  without  having  noticed 
the  Inspector's  ironical  suspicion. 

"Is  that  so?"  Jensen-Skandrup  still  smiling 
nodded  encouragingly  to  him. 

"Until  this  minute,"  explained  Lange.  "I  con- 
sidered it  a  dream  but  it  is  all  too  real  to  have  been 
a  dream.  No,  I  was  awake  or  rather  half  awake 
when—" 

He  sat  and  stared  straight  in  front  of  him,  as  if 
he  were  calling  back  the  picture  of  that  moment. 
Jensen-Skandrup  gave  Falk  a  meaning  look. 

"Well,  what  happened?"  he  asked  Lange  with 
apparent  scepticism. 

"It  all  seems  to  me,"  Lange  strove  to  remember, 
[57] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"like  a  blurred  photograph.  But  there  was  some- 
thing, a  bright  object  or  a  streak  of  light  in  the 
middle  of  it — and  something  long  and  pale  like 
a  hand — and  then  a  slight  noise  of  something  or 
other — and  constantly  a  rushing  and  roaring  as  of 
music  or  of  a  storm." 

"You  can't  define  it  more  clearly?"  asked  Falk 
with  marked  interest. 

"That  Mr.  Lange  can  not,  I  am  sure,"  said  Jen- 
sen-Skandrup  scornfully.  He  did  not  believe  a 
word  of  the  painted,  fantastic  account,  as  it 
seemed  to  him. 

"But  here  is  the  house-keeper,"  he  said,  and 
turned  towards  the  door  that  had  been  opened  be- 
hind him.  "Now  we  can  get  matters  cleared  up 
about  those  keys." 

The  house-keeper,  nodding  and  curtseying, 
came  into  the  room.  She  was  dressed  as  if  she 
were  going  to  a  festival. 

"She  absolutely  would  change  her  clothes," 
whispered  the  detective  to  Jensen-Skandrup.  The 
house-keeper  glanced  at  the  latter  in  confusion. 
He  began  to  question  her  about  the  keys: 

"Do  you  think  it  is  possible  that  some  one  has 
stolen  them  from  you?" 

"No,  for  I  have  already  found  them,"  explained 
Mrs.  Rosenkvist  in  a  shaky  voice. 

[58] 


TWO    DEAD   MEN 

"Where  were  they?" 

"On  the  stand  out  in  the  corridor  leading  to 
my  room." 

Einar  Lange  bowed  his  head  despondently — the 
Inspector  smiled  in  triumph. 

"Good,"  he  said  to  the  house-keeper,  "you  will 
be  notified  when  to  report  in  court." 

Mrs.  Rosenkvist  made  a  curtsey,  and  backed 
hurriedly  out  of  the  room. 

"It  didn't  work,  did  it?"  asked  Jensen-Skan- 
drup.  Lange  jumped  to  his  feet  in  protest,  but 
managed  to  control  himself. 

Dr.  Pedersen  and  the  officer  from  the  identifica- 
tion bureau  now  appeared.  Falk  drew  the  physi- 
cian to  one  side. 

"May  I  see  the  death  certificate?" 

Dr.  Pedersen  gave  it  to  him.  Falk  studied  it 
closely.  He  stopped  at  the  description  of  the 
wound: 

"The  throat  cut  in  an  absolutely  death-dealing 
gash  from  left  to  right.  Wound  made  by  a  razor, 
and  followed  by  almost  instantaneous  death." 

He  also  noted  the  doctor's  temporary  report  of 
the  probable  moment  of  death  which  about  coin- 
cided with  the  time  the  watch  had  shown. 

"It's  a  sad  affair,"  said  Dr.  Pedersen. 

He  might  as  well  have  said  that  the  weather  was 
[59] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

cold.     He  had  written  too  many  death  certificates 
to  be  moved  by  one  more. 

"No  finger  prints!"  Falk  heard  Jensen-Skan- 
drup  burst  out.  "I'll  be  damned!" 

The  detectives  substantiated  it: 

"Only  the  dead  man's,"  they  said,  "and  the 
house-keeper's." 

"Let's  go  then,"  and  Jensen-Skandrup  turned  to- 
wards Lange. 

"I'm  going  to  stay  here  a  few  minutes,"  said 
Falk. 

"All  right,  have  a  good  time!  And  good 
night!"  The  Inspector  went  out  with  Lange  and 
the  two  detectives.  The  third  remained  to  search 
the  house  more  thoroughly. 

"I'll  see  Dr.  Pedersen  on  his  way,"  said  Miller 
and  gave  Falk  his  hand:  "I've  had  enough  of  this 
murder-laden  air  for  the  evening." 

Falk  stood  by  the  window  and  saw  the  automo- 
bile with  Lange  and  the  detectives  drive  away. 
Miller  and  Dr.  Pedersen  sauntered,  chatting,  down 
toward  Vesterbro  Market.  Falk  turned  away  at 
an  exclamation  from  the  detective  whom  he  had 
heard  rattling  the  coal-scuttle  while  replenishing 
the  fire. 

"What  is  it?" 

The  detective  took  something  out  of  the  scuttle 
[60] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

and  laid  it  on  the  table.  A  pair  of  blood  stained 
gloves  with  the  initials  E.  L.!  Falk  whistled 
softly.  That  was  why  there  had  been  no  finger 
prints,  neither  on  the  safe  nor  the  razor!  And 
that  was  why  the  towel  had  been  so  bloody.  The 
murderer  had — God  only  knows  for  what  reason 
— washed  and  dried  his  hands  with  the  bloody 
gloves  on.  The  detective  shook  his  head  in  be- 
wilderment. 

"I  never  came  up  against  anything  like  this  be- 
fore," he  said,  "such  a  mixture  of  the  professional 
and  the  amateur." 

Falk  offered  him  a  cigar  and  lit  one  himself. 

"Have  you  any  objection  to  my  spending  a  few 
minutes  in  the  bedroom?"  Falk  asked. 

"No,  not  at  all,  Mr.  Falk.  Only  don't  touch 
anything  in  there." 

"No  fear,  I  won't!" 

The  man  eagerly  continued  his  search,  and  Falk 
opened  the  door  to  the  bedroom.  He  turned  on 
the  light  there,  looked  around  and  then  put  it  out 
again.  Then  he  raised  the  roller  shade.  The 
moon  shone  into  the  room,  and  shed  its  light  over 
the  head  of  the  bed.  Falk  lifted  the  cloth  that  had 
been  laid  over  the  head  of  the  corpse,  and  exam- 
ined the  wound  carefully. 

The  room  had  the  form  of  a  parallelogram 
[61] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

whose  four  corners  were  right  angles.  The  bed 
stood  up  against  the  long  wall  and  directly  op- 
posite the  door.  Its  head  was  towards  the  win- 
dow in  the  short  wall  on  the  right,  and  separated 
from  it  by  the  wash-stand.  The  safe  stood  against 
the  wall  on  the  left. 

Falk  hastily  visualized  the  murder.  From  the 
door  the  murderer  had  moved  softly  to  the  right 
toward  the  head  of  the  bed.  Over  by  the  win- 
dow, he  must  have  stopped  a  moment,  probably 
from  fear  of  waking  his  victim.  For  Falk  saw 
that  the  curtain  on  the  right  side  of  the  window 
had  been  stepped  on  and  had  sagged  a  little.  The 
noise  must  have  been  very  slight.  But  the  mur- 
derer in  spite  of  that  had  stopped  and  waited  until 
the  old  man's  regular  breathing  had  assured  him 
that  he  slept.  After  which  he  had  stolen  over  to 
the  wash  stand  upon  whose  glass  top  the  razor  had 
lain.  And  of  which  the  murderer  must  have 
Known  beforehand. 

He  had  thus  obtained  the  knife,  and  then  had 
tiptoed  over  behind  the  head  of  the  bed.  Saabye, 
who  had  a  slight  tendency  to  asthma,  always  slept 
with  somewhat  low-cut  night-shirts.  It  had  been 
easy  for  the  murderer,  then,  to  see  his  throat,  and 
to  calculate  his  stroke.  Now  he  had  bent  over 
the  somewhat  low  bedstead.  And  in  the  same  in- 

[62] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

slant  that  he,  with  one  stroke  from  left  to  right,  had 
cut  the  throat  of  his  victim,  he  had  with  his  be- 
gloved  hand  choked  the  cry  that  he  feared  Saabye 
would  utter. 

Falk  seemed  to  see  the  death  certificate  before 
him: 

"The  throat  cut  in  an  absolutely  death-dealing 
gash  from  left  to  right — " 

And  beside  it,  a  picture  of  Lange  at  the  instant 
when  Falk  had  handed  him  the  pocket  knife,  and 
he  stood  with  it  in  his  hand.  Falk  grew  pale  from 
excitement —  But  did  he  remember  correctly? 
And  lastly  what  did  this  array  of  evidence  mean 
that  had  loomed  up  against  Lange:  the  flight,  the 
telephoning,  his  knowledge  of  the  safe  combina- 
tion, the  bloody  coat  and  handkerchief,  the  bloody 
gloves,  etc.,  etc.! 

But  still — 

Falk  covered  the  face  of  the  dead  man  and  left 
the  room.  As  he  passed  the  little  mahogany  stand 
in  the  hall,  he  stopped.  Of  course,  the  murderer 
could  have  stolen  the  house-keeper's  keys  during 
the  afternoon,  and  could  have  laid  them  here  after 
he  had  killed  Saabye.  The  motive,  however, 
seemed  a  little  obscure. 

Falk  knocked  on  Mrs.  Rosenkvist's  door,  who 
instantly  appeared,  pale  and  distracted. 

[63] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Do  you  usually  put  the  keys  on  the  stand 
there?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I  have  often  put  them  there.  But  mostly 
here  in  my  bureau  drawer  or  out  in  the  entry." 

Falk  wished  her  a  friendly  good  night.  There 
was  no  information  of  any  value  to  be  obtained 
here. 

As  he  entered  the  study,  the  detective  was  bent 
over  something  on  the  carpet  quite  over  by  the  fire- 
place. 

Some  cigarette  ashes! 

"I  don't  know,"  and  he  turned  uncertainly  to 
Falk.  "if  this  has  any  bearing  on  the  case.'1' 

Falk  recognized  the  blue-green  ashes  at  once. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  he  smiled,  "the  man  who 
dropped  those  ashes — it  is  of  a  very  rare  cig- 
arette called  'Sunka,'  which  is  frightfully  expen- 
sive ano\  tastes  beastly — has,  it  is  true,  killed 
various  persons,  but  the  police  can  do  nothing  to 
him." 

The  detective  looked  at  Falk  in  amazement. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked. 

"Because  he  is  a  writer,  and  his  name  is  Pre- 
ben  Miller." 

The  detective  gaped,  and  still  did  not  under- 
stand. 

"And,"  finished  Falk,  "last  but  not  least  be- 
cause it's  in  his  books  that  he  kills  people." 
[64] 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  next  day,  the  anteroom  outside  the 
Criminal  Court  was  filled  with  witnesses 
in  the  Saabye  murder  case. 

During  the  preliminary  examination,  Einar 
Lange  had  denied  everything,  in  a  most  defiant, 
most  ridiculous  manner.  The  examination  had 
ended  with  the  District  Attorney  putting  him  under 
arrest,  and  the  examination  of  the  witnesses  be- 
gan a  few  minutes  after.  Falk  and  Miller  came 
out  of  the  offices  after  they  had  submitted  their  evi- 
dence. It  was  afternoon  but  still  light.  They 
both  went  over  to  the  window.  The  snow  slanted 
down  from  an  unseen  sky. 

"Stock  is  here,"  said  Falk  quietly.  Preben  Mil- 
ler nodded.  He'd  also  seen  him. 

"I  am  so  sorry  for  Ada,"  he  said.  "She  sits 
there  looking  like  a  veritable  Snow-Queen.  She 
is  so  damnably  proud.  Nobody  can  guess  what 
she  is  suffering." 

Arne  Falk  still  looked  out  of  the  window.  Mil- 
ler took  out  his  watch.  "We'd  better  be  going?" 
[65] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I'm  waiting  for  Lange,  he  ought  to  be  here 
right  away." 

"What  the  deuce  do  you  want  with  him?" 

"I  want  him  to  substantiate  or  strengthen  an 
idea  that  I  have." 

Miller  smiled  slightly. 

"You  are  so  secretive,  you  sleuths!  But  other- 
wise, I  suppose,  no  one  would  believe  in  you." 

Falk  imitated  his  smile. 

"We  must,  even  as  you  worthy  authors,  make 
ourselves  ridiculous  to  convince  the  public  that  we 
have  talent.  It's  all  merely  suggestion — " 

Miller's  smile  became  a  little  forced. 

Captain  Stock  sat  on  one  of  the  benches  with  his 
wife  and  daughter  and  growled.  The  mere  fact 
that  he  had  been  ordered  to  appear  by  a  non- 
militaristic  institution  peeved  him  greatly. 

And  they  dared  to  make  him  wait  in  the  bar- 
gain! Nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  since 
the  stipulated  time!  Somebody  should  just  have 
tried  that  when  he  was  in  the  Service!  He  would 
get  solitary  confinement  were  he  a  hundred  times 
a  District  Attorney!  But  now  he  had  passed  the 
age  limit!  Was  past  active  service!  Oh,  hum! 
Hm!  But  the  Fiend  fly  away  with  him,  anyway, 
if  he  would  sit  here — ! 

His  growling  rose  to  a  roar.  His  somewhat 
[66] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

brow-beaten  spouse  blinked  at  him  with  red- 
rimmed  eyes.  But  he  would  not  look.  Then  she 
whispered  to  him: 

"Do  be  quiet,  dear  Frederick,  it  will  be  our 


turn  soon." 


The  Captain  swallowed  an  oath: 

"What  times  we  live  in!"  he  bellowed.  "Mur- 
der and  robbery  and  unpunctuality!  People  re- 
fuse to  go  to  war!  They  refuse  to  become  sol- 
diers! But  they  slit  folks's  gullets  from  behind! 
And  then  they  talk  of  progress!  Progress!" 

Mrs.  Louise  Stock  soothed  him  as  best  she  could, 
and  looked  anxiously  about.  She  had  heard  many 
terrible  tales  of  how  people  were  treated  up  here. 
And  her  dear  Frederick  had  such  a  hasty  temper. 
Her  frightened,  worried  glance  rested  on  the 
benches.  How  disgustingly  dusty  they  were. 
Were  they  never  cleaned?  Her  very  fingers 
itched  at  the  sight,  but  then  she  happened  to  look 
at  her  daughter  and  forgot  everything  else. 

"Poor  little  Ada,"  she  whispered  very  low,  and 
pressed  her  daughter's  hand.  The  Captain  also 
looked  over  at  Ada  but  looked  hurriedly  away 
again,  and  hemmed  and  hawed  fiercely.  Mrs. 
Stock  stared  fixedly  in  front  of  her.  It  was  so 
dreadfully  sad.  Ada  had  become  quite  pale  and 
rigid.  As  if  she  were  frozen  in  her  very  inner- 
[67] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

most  heart.  But  then  she,  her  mother,  knew  how 
good  and  loving  she  was  for  all  her  cold  exterior, 
and  how  deeply  she  cared  for  that  unfortunate  per- 
son. She  sneaked  her  handkerchief  out  Tears 
filled  her  eyes. 

"Louise!"  the  Captain's  whisper  echoed  like  a 
suppressed  howl.  It  made  her  start.  Everybody 
looked  their  way,  and  her  husband  looked  at  the 
innocent  handkerchief  as  if  he  would  burn  it  up 
with  his  eyes. 

"Louise!  No  bawling!  Do  you  hear?  An 
officer's  wife  does  not  cry." 

She  hurriedly  put  away  her  handkerchief  al- 
though her  eyes  were  quite  wet. 

"But  Ada,  dear!" 

Her  daughter  had  gripped  her  hand  and  held  it 
as  if  she  would  crush  it.  But  she  did  not  look  at 
her  mother.  She  stared  straight  at  the  broad,  old- 
fashioned  stairway.  Some  one  was  coming  down! 
Mrs.  Stock  started.  She  could  have  sunk  through 
the  floor  from  shame.  And  yet  she  liked  him  so 
much. 

It  was  Einar  Lange,  and  a  policeman. 

The  Captain  had  also  seen  him,  and  sat  stiffly, 
looking  as  if  he  stood  hopeless  but  fearless  before 
a  firing  squad.  Only  the  beard  around  his  mouth 
quivered  a  little. 

[68] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"There  he  is,"  said  Falk  quietly  and  left  his 
place  by  the  window. 

Lange  was  very  pale  but  calm.  Instead  of  the 
blood-stained  coat  he  wore  one  of  somewhat  worn 
black  cloth.  The  police  had  searched  his  lodgings 
immediately  after  his  arrest  and  they  had  brought 
it  along.  His  head  was  bowed  slightly.  As  he 
stopped  in  front  of  Ada  Stock,  he  held  it  suddenly 
erect.  Her  face  was  like  ice,  without  expression 
and  full  of  coldness.  She  looked  through  him. 

"Ada,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

She  opened  her  mouth  slightly  and  then  grimly 
closed  it. 

"Ada,"  he  repeated  and  would  have  said  more 
but  gripped  at  the  empty  air  and  was  about  to  fall, 
weakened  as  he  was  from  a  perplexed  and  sleep- 
less night  and  anxious  over  the  suspicious  coldness 
he  seemed  to  read  in  her  face. 

"A  glass  of  water,"  cried  the  policeman.  "The 
carafe  is  over  there  by  the  window." 

Miller  poured  out  some  water,  but  Falk  tore  the 
glass  from  his  hand  and  gave  it  to  Lange.  The 
latter  took  it  with  a  shaking  hand,  emptied  it  and 
walked,  staring  stiffly  in  front  of  him,  into  the  Dis- 
trict Attorney's  office.  The  door  closed  behind 
him  with  a  bang. 

Miller  looked  at  Falk  in  amazement: 
[69] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Why  the  deuce  did  you  take  the  glass — "  he 
began  but  stopped  quickly. 

Falk  was  smiling  broadly. 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  smiling  about?" 

"Let  us  go,"  said  Falk  without  answering  him. 
They  greeted  the  Captain  and  his  family  as  they 
passed.  Ada  Stock  did  not  recognize  them. 

"Poor  girl,"  said  Falk,  and  grew  suddenly  mel- 
ancholy: 

"It  is  not  I  who  am  a  genius,"  he  said,  "but  you 
others  who  are  so  unutterably  stupid." 

"Beg  pardon,"  Miller  stammered. 

"Oh,  I  was  only  joshing,"  said  Falk  and  smiled 
again. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  you  before?"  and 
Miller  gazed  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"I  made  a  discovery,"  confided  Falk,  "an  ex- 
ceedingly important  discovery." 

"And  what  was  it?"  asked  the  other  indiffer- 
ently. 

"Of  something  that  you  have  known  for  many 
years,"  teased  Falk. 

Miller  shook  his  head  and  lit  a  cigarette: 

"I  am  no  good  at  riddles,"  he  said  without  press- 
ing Falk  for  any  further  explanation. 

They  went  silently  down  the  courthouse  steps. 
As  they  came  out  on  the  street,  the  snow  ceased  fall- 

[70] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

ing.  The  street  lamps  were  being  lit  around  them. 
They  turned  down  the  boulevard.  A  fur-coated 
gentleman  with  a  black  drooping  moustache  swung 
his  silk  hat  in  a  respectful  greeting  to  Preben  Mil- 
ler who  barely  acknowledged  it.  Falk  looked 
after  the  fur  clad  man  in  surprise: 

"Wasn't  that  Hempel?     Your  chief  creditor?" 

"Yes!  There  ought  to  be  a  law  against  vermin 
of  his  sort  greeting  one  on  the  street,"  Miller 
growled. 

"He  was  deucedly  polite!  Did  he  cash  that  last 
note?" 

"Yes,  thank  the  Lord!"  Miller  sighed  in  relief. 

"Whose  name  did  you  put  on  the  back  of  it  this 
time?"  smiled  Falk.  "Luckily  I  won't  do." 

Miller  took  him  jovially  by  the  arm. 

"What  a  world  we  live  in,  when  Arne  Falk's 
name  is  not  good  enough  for  the  back  of  a  false 


note." 


They  walked  in  silence  for  some  minutes.  The 
light  and  bustle  around  them  refreshed  them. 
They  were  both  men  of  the  metropolis. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  case,  anyway?"  asked 
Miller  suddenly. 

"To  be  quite  honest  with  you,  for  once,  I  haven't 
the  slightest  idea  where  it  is  leading  to." 

"But  the  discovery  you  made?" 
[71] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 
" — only  led  me  away  from  one  clue  without 
pointing  to  another — " 

Up  in  the  courthouse  District  Attorney  Jorgen- 
sen  struggled  with  Einar  Lange.  The  small,  fiery 
official  was  really  angry: 

"I  consider  you  too  intelligent  a  man  to  per- 
sist in  this  ridiculous  system  of  denial.  But  let 
me  tell  you,  you  shall  have  time  enough  to  figure 
things  out  if  we  prolong  your  custody  indefinitely." 

Einar  Lange  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
He  hardly  heard  him.  He  constantly  saw  Ada's 
stony  face  before  him. 

"You  still  deny  then,"  persisted  the  prosecutor, 
"that  you  paid  the  deceased  this  visit  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  borrowing  money  from  him." 

"Yes,  absolutely." 

The  District  Attorney  made  a  hopeless  gesture. 

"What  are  your  plans  in  regard  to  your  mar- 
riage with  Miss  Stock?  You  see  I  can  have  no  re- 
gard for  your  feelings  in  a  case  like  this." 

"We  had  intended  to  be  married  in  the  course 
of  a  few  months,"  said  Lange. 

Jorgensen  smiled  triumphantly. 

"You  make  quite  a  little  on  your  pictures  then? 
The  taste  for  them  is  well — a  bit — hm! — orig- 
inal—" 

[72] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I've  done  fairly  well  this  last  year,"  said 
Lange.  "But  my  parents1 — " 

The  District  Attorney  interrupted  him. 

"Thanks,  I  didn't  ask  you  about  that — but  what 
do  you  call  doing  fairly  well,"  he  continued. 

"Oh,  a  couple  of  thousand  kroner  a  year." 

Jorgensen  stretched  out  his  hand  to  one  of  the 
clerks. 

"Income  tax  returns,"  he  ordered  and  got  them. 
"You  were  taxed  for  twenty-one  hundred  kroner 
last  year.  Did  you  make  more  or  less  this  year?" 

"Almost  the  same,  maybe  a  couple  of  hundred 


more." 


The  prosecuter  placed  the  blanks  carefully  to- 
gether: 

"Miss  Stock,"  said  he,  "is  the  daughter  of  a  rich 
man.  It  was  expected  then  that  your  father-in- 
law-to-be  would  help  you  out  with  a  yearly 
sum?" 

"No,  I  won't  accept  charity,  no  matter  how 
kindly  it  is  offered." 

"Which  it  probably  wasn't?" 

Lange  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"There's  been  no  talk  of  anything  of  that  nature 
between  Captain  Stock  and  myself." 

"And  you  really  have  no  intention  of  proposing 
such  an  arrangement?" 

[73] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"No,  no  more  than  I  have  of  receiving  anything 
whatsoever  from  him." 

"You're  not  in  sympathy  with  Mr.  Stock,  then?" 

"No,  we  have  different  ideas  about  everything 
under  the  sun.  I  told  Ada,  my  fiancee,  already  a 
week  ago — our  engagement  was  not  officially  an- 
nounced then, — that  I  would  take  over  both  the 
wedding  expenses  and  the  trousseau,  and  she 
agreed  with  me.  However,  I  don't  see — " 

The  other  interrupted  him. 

"That's  all  right.  But  maybe  you  can  under- 
stand that  it's  impossible,  hopelessly  impossible, 
for  you  to  marry  a  lady  like  Miss  Stock  on  an 
average  income  of  2000  kroner  a  year." 

"That  is  something  that  concerns  only  Miss 
Stock  and  myself,"  Lange  flared  up. 

"No,  not  at  all,"  sneered  Jorgensen  and  turned 
to  the  court  officer.  "Bring  the  house-keeper, 
Mrs.  Rosenkvist,  in  here." 

Mrs.  Rosenkvist  was  almost  ready  to  faint  with 
fright  as  she  stood  before  the  bar.  She  did  not 
like  the  atmosphere  of  the  room.  It  smelled  too 
much  of  crime. 

"You  know  this  gentleman  here?"  asked  the 
District  Attorney  and  pointed  to  Lange. 

Mrs.  Rosenkvist  stammered  a  half -choked: 
[74] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Yes,  to  my  sorrow." 

"Do  you  maintain  your  assertion  that  he  visited 
the  deceased  last  evening  in  order  to  borrow  money 
from  him?" 

The  house-keeper  nodded  uneasily  and  glanced 
at  Lange  who,  half  surprised,  half  angry,  ex- 
claimed: 

"But  what  in  the  world — " 

The  prosecutor  interrupted  him: 

"Be  so  kind  as  to  answer  only  when  you  are 
spoken  to." 

With  that  he  turned  to  the  house-keeper: 

"Mr.  Lange  considers  your  testimony  a  down- 
right lie,"  he  said  to  urge  the  cowed  lady  to  a 
more  spirited  declaration,  and  it  did  not  fail.  At 
first  the  house-keeper  was  staggered  by  the  bare 
audacity  of  the  statement,  but  she  soon  found  her 
tongue.  Like  a  top  she  whirled  around  to  Lange, 
her  face  flaming  with  indignant  anger. 

"Mr.  Lange  has  perhaps  quite  forgotten  that  I 
Btood  in  Mr.  Saabye's  bedroom  while  he  and  my 
poor  master  were  over  by  the  safe —  Or  maybe 
you  have  forgotten  what  you  said  to  the  master 
then?" 

Lange  smiled  wanly: 

"I  have  forgotten  neither — I  asked  father — as 
[75] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

a  joke,  of  course — to  teach  me  the  combination  of 
the  safe  so  that  if  he  should  show  himself  stingy, 
I  could  help  myself  to  the  contents." 

"There  was  some  talk  of  money  then?"  con- 
cluded the  District  Attorney. 

"Yes,  there  was,"  admitted  Lange,  "but  with- 
out any  designs  on  my  part  whatsoever." 

"Did  the  deceased  then  show  you  the  combina- 
tion?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  learn  it  by  heart?" 

"Yes." 

The  other  looked  at  him  in  surprise;  he  had  ex- 
pected a  denial. 

"Did  you  see  that  there  was  money  in  the  safe? 
Or  did  you  know  about  it  beforehand?" 

"I  saw  my  father  put  it  away,  besides  he  had 
told  me  earlier  that  he  had  been  unable  to  get  to 
the  bank  with  it  on  account  of  the  bad  weather, 
and  that  there  was  about  4000  kroner." 

The  house-keeper  stirred  uneasily. 

"Is  there  something  you  would  like  to  say?" 
Jorgensen  asked  her. 

"Yes,  about  a  remark  that  Mr.  Lange  made  as 
the  money  was  put  in  the  safe." 

Lange  shook  his  head  a  bit  irritably. 
[76] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I  said,"  he  cut  short  the  house-keeper's  will- 
ing information,  "that  I  ought  to  learn  the  com- 
bination. So  much  more  so  as  I  might  have  use 
for  the  money  that  very  night." 

"Which  was  not  without  reason,"  continued  the 
District  Attorney,  "partly  because  you  needed  it, 
either  for  your  wedding  or  otherwise!  And 
partly  because  your  foster-father  rarely  had  so 
large  a  sum  on  hand." 

"It  was  all  in  joking,  of  course,"  answered 
Lange. 

Jorgensen  smiled  scornfully. 

"Of  course — "     Lange  began. 

"You  will  be  told  when  we  wish  further  infor- 
mation," and  he  turned  to  the  house-keeper  who, 
curtseying  deeply,  left  the  room. 

"You  have  some  debts,"  he  continued  his  exam- 
ination of  Lange. 

"Only  very  little." 

"No  pressing  obligations?" 

"No." 

The  prosecutor  smiled  maliciously,  and  showed 
Lange  a  letter: 

"What  do  you  call  this?" 

Lange  grew  white  and  red  by  turns  but  did  not 
answer. 

[77] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 
"If  you  care  to  listen,"  said  Jorgensen  with 
ironical  politeness,  and  began  to  read  the  letter: 

Mr.  Einar  Lange, 

As  I  hear  that  you  are  about  to  become  engaged  to 
Miss  Ada  Stock,  I  suggest  in  all  friendship  that  we 
settle  a  little  affair  that  still  exists  between  us.  In 
which  you  owe  me  1000  kroner.  This,  I  think,  you  will 
not  deny.  However,  I  will  not  wait  any  longer  for 
the  money.  I  will  give  you  a  week  to  get  it  in.  If  I 
have  not  received  it  by  that  time,  I  shall  be  forced  to 
go  to  your  future  father-in-law,  the  rich  Captain  Stock. 
I  hope,  however,  that  this  will  not  be  necessary.  He 
is  said  to  be  somewhat  prudish,  and  would  surely  dis- 
approve of  that  letter  of  a  year  ago  in  which  you  made 
me  an  offer  of  marriage — and  also  of  the  fact  that  you 
have  loaned  money  to  a  girl  like  me — however,  you  will 
have  no  trouble  getting  the  money,  I  am  sure.  In  a 
week's  time  then. 

Respectfully, 

ELLY  HANSEN. 

"The  week  was  up  yesterday,"  continued  the 
District  Attorney  coldly.  "Is  it  clear  to  you  what 
would  happen  if  this  Elly  Hansen  went  to  your 
fiancee's  father?" 

Einar  Lange  nodded  stupidly. 

"And  it  has  always  been  clear  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"You  forgot  about  this  very  pressing  obligation 
before." 

[78] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I  didn't  mention  it  because  this  letter  is  nothing 
but  a  downright  attempt  at  blackmail." 

"You  deny,  then,  owing  this  Elly  Hansen  2000 
kroner?" 

"Yes  of  course." 

"Perhaps  you  don't  know  this  lady  at  all?" 

"Unfortunately,  yes.  I  was  at  one  time  so 
youthfully  in  love  with  her  that  I  did  offer  to 
marry  her.  But,  thank  the  Lord,  she  jilted  me." 

"Bring  Elly  Hansen  in  here,"  ordered  the  pros- 
ecutor. 

"And  show  the  accused  into  the  next  room." 

The  court  officer  hurriedly  thrust  Lange  in  the 
side  room  to  which  the  official  had  pointed. 

Elly  Hansen  stepped  in  before  the  bar  clad  in 
an  elegant  grey  fur  cloak.  She  exhaled  an  odour 
of  fleur  d'amour.  She  smiled  winningly  at  the 
District  Attorney. 

"This  was  the  letter,"  he  said,  "do  you  acknowl- 
edge it  as  your  own?" 

"Yes,  I  certainly  do.     Are  you  in  doubt?" 

"It  smells  strongly  of  blackmail,  my  dear  Elly 
Hansen." 

She  laughed  scornfully. 

"It  is  just  as  much  blackmail  as  if  you  wrote  to 
some  one  who  owed  you  money,  if  you  were  in 
need  of  it." 

[79] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

The  District  Attorney  nodded  sceptically; 

"How  did  Mr.  Lange  come  to  owe  you  so  much 
money?" 

"Oh,  I  can't  say  for  sure.  For  travelling  and 
cafe  expenses.  First  class  hotels  are  costly  in  the 
long  run,  and  I  never  drank  anything  but  cham- 
pagne." 

"Have  you  any  proof  of  the  debt?" 

"Proof  and  proof!"  Elly  Hansen  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  "I  have  always  had  confidence  in  the 
men  I  have  known.  A  gentleman  does  not  cheat 
a  poor  woman — " 

" — who  can  loan  a  1000  kroner,"  continued 
the  prosecutor  ironically. 

"It  was  indeed  all  my  savings,"  she  insisted 
undaunted. 

"Has  the  accused  had  any  reason  to  believe  that 
you  would  make  good  your  threat  and  go  to  Cap- 
tain Stock  if  he  did  not  pay  you  the  money?" 

"Yes,  Einar  Lange  knows  me  well.  He  knows 
I  have  plenty  of  backbone.  I  don't  threaten.  I 
do." 

"That's  all,"  said  the  District  Attorney  in  dis- 
missal. "Thank  you." 

She  left  the  room  like  a  condescending  queen. 

"Open  the  window!"  snarled  the  District  Attor- 
[80] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

ney.     "She  has  poisoned  the  air  with  her  damn  per- 
fume!" 

The  winter  air  quickly  filled  the  room. 

"Captain  Stock  and  wife,"  was  the  attorney's 
next  order. 

The  court  officer  opened  the  door  for  them  an 
instant  after.  The  Captain  was  a  reddish  blue 
from  indignation  over  having  waited  so  long.  He 
gave  Jorgensen  a  furious  look: 

"I  was  told  to  be  here  at  two-thirty — "  he  began 
to  roar  when  he  was  stopped  by  the  prosecutor's 
short: 

"You  are  Captain  Stock,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes,"  he  boomed. 

"And  this  lady  is  your  wife?" 

"Yes." 

"I  will  not  inconvenience  you  long,  Captain. 
We  have  sent  for  you  and  your  wife  in  order  to 
clear  up,  if  possible,  this  matter  of  the  mysterious 
telephoning  that  Mr.  Lange  insists  has  taken 
place —  Do  you  lock  the  door  to  your  bedroom  at 
night?" 

Captain  Stock  cleared  his  throat  embarrassedly. 

"Yes,  you  see  my  wife  is  easily  frightened.  She 
has  not  as  I — have — been — " 

"Did  you  lock  it  last  night?" 
[81] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

The  Captain  grunted  in  peevish  assent.  He 
was  angry  at  the  interruption. 

"Are  you  sure?"  continued  the  District  Attor- 
ney undisturbed,  "that  there  was  no  one  in  there 
or  that  no  one  could  have  gotten  in  while  you  and 
your  wife  slept,  who  could  have  sent  this  myste- 
rious message?" 

The  Captain  cleared  his  throat  again: 

"Yes,  quite  sure,"  he  mumbled.  "As  an  old 
soldier  I  realize  the  importance  of  keeping  my 
post.  And  these  are  unquiet  times,  so — " 

"We  always  search  the  room  before  we  go  to 
bed,"  interjected  Mrs.  Stock  anxiously.  "And  my 
husband  sleeps  very  lightly.  He  would  have  awak- 
ened at  once  if  anybody  had  come  in  the  room. 
Particularly  as  there  is  only  one  and  the  same  door 
to  the—" 

"And  as  I,"  continued  the  Captain  interrupt- 
ing her,  "following  my  wife's  wishes,  placed  va- 
rious articles  against  the  door  which  would  have 
been  crushed  if  the  door  (which  opens  inwardly) 
had  been  opened  from  the  outside." 

"You  believe  then  that  it  was  impossible 
that  anybody  could  have  rung  up  from  your 
house?" 

"Yes,  absolutely." 

The  District  Attorney  got  up  and  said  politely: 
[82] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Thank  you  for  your  information.  You  will 
not  be  bothered  again." 

The  Captain,  with  a  gracious  nod,  bustled  out  of 
the  room,  followed  by  his  wife. 

"Miss  Ada  Stock,"  called  the  District  Attorney. 

The  court  officer  opened  the  door  of  the  ante- 
room and  repeated  the  call.  She  came  at  once. 
He  shut  the  door  behind  her. 

"Offer  the  lady  a  chair,"  he  ordered. 

She  nodded  gratefully  and  sank  into  it.  She 
was  pale  as  a  corpse,  but  not  a  muscle  moved  in 
her  face. 

Jorgensen's  voice  was  friendly  and  sympa- 
thetic as  he  asked; 

"Hasn't  your  fiance  a  hasty  temper?" 

She  nodded,  trying  in  vain  to  speak. 

"Pardon  me  if  I  ask,"  said  the  prosecutor,  "but 
is  your  approaching  marriage  his  or  your  plan?" 

"It  is  his,"  she  stammered :  "I  advised  against 
it;  I  am  young  and  can  easily  wait.  But  he 
wouldn't  hear  of  it." 

"Didn't  his  pecuniary  circumstances  make  you 
reflect  on  such  a  hasty  marriage?" 

"Yes,  and  I  spoke  to  him  about  it.  But  he  said 
that  we  could  manage  very  well  without  help 
from  anybody." 

"Not  even  from  his  foster-father?" 
[83] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"No,  not  from  him  either." 

"Do  you  believe  in  your  lover's  innocence?" 

She  looked  slowly  up  at  him. 

"I  hope  for  it,"  she  whispered.  "But  if  he  is 
guilty  he  has  done  it  in  a  fit  of  insanity.  He's 
hasty  tempered  and  also  a  little  thoughtless.  But 
otherwise  he  is  the  best  man  in  the  world." 

Jorgensen  saw  that  she  was  about  to  cry. 

"Thanks,  that's  all,"  he  said. 

He  heard  her  sob  as  the  door  to  the  anteroom 
closed  behind  her.  The  District  Attorney  knit  his 
brows. 

"Why  do  the  best  women  always  love  the  worst 
men?"  he  muttered  slowly,  and  then  suddenly  hit 
the  desk  a  blow  with  his  fist. 

"Bring  Einar  Lange  in  here!" 

The  door  to  the  side  room  opened.  Lange's  eyes 
were  moist.  He  had  heard  Ada  Stock  defend  him. 
He  had  wept. 

"Rag!"  sneered  Jorgensen  without  looking  at 
him,  "well,  have  you  wisely  reconsidered  things 
in  the  meantime?" 

"If  you  by  'wisely  reconsidering'  mean  a  con- 
fession," said  Lange  quietly,  "I  have  not  re- 
considered." 

"You  are  only  wasting  time  by  your  obstinacy," 
[84] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

said  the  attorney  in  a  not  unfriendly  tone.     "Let 
us  try  to  come  to  an  understanding. 

"You  are  quite  poor  and  have  a  comparatively 
small  income.  In  spite  of  this  you  intend  to 
marry  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  man  from  whom 
you  cannot  expect,  or,  in  accordance  with  your  own 
words,  cannot  think  of  help.  You  know  that  your 
fiancee  as  the  only  daughter  and  child  of  the  afore- 
said wealthy  man  is  somewhat  spoiled.  You  know 
also  that  a  change  in  your  pecuniary  status  is  - 
highly  problematical.  And  although  you  are 
neither  heartless,  insane  or  known  as  an  impostor, 
you,  who  I  have  heard  really  love  your  fiancee, 
will  nevertheless  drag  her  down  to  your  poverty 
and  the  bitter  struggle  for  existence.  I  refuse  to 
believe  in  such  conduct  towards  a  person  one  is 
fond  of.  And  I  find  it  still  more  to  be  con- 
demned. I  believe  you  to  have  committed  this 
crime — with  the  understandable,  if  not  justifiable 
motive  of  securing  enough  money  to  insure  your 
future  wife  ,a  carefree  existence.  But  perhaps 
you  will  still  insist  that  the  thought  never  struck 
you,  that  you  would  become  rich  at  your  foster- 
father's  death." 

"No,  not  in  connection  with  the  plans  for  my 
marriage." 

[85] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Not  in  connection  with  the  letter  from  Elly 
Hansen  either?  As  you  well  knew — from  your 
foster-father's  antipathy  to  this  lady — that  he 
would  not  help  you  about  it." 

"No,  -not  that  time  either.  I  did  not  think  that 
she  would  do  anything  about  it.  I  regarded  the 
letter  of  so  little  consequence,  that  I  threw  it  into 
the  waste-basket  at  once  where  your  people  no 
doubt  found  it." 

The  District  Attorney,  with  a  shrug,  resumed 
quietly: 

"After  a  quarrel  with  your  foster-father  of  a 
year's  standing,  you  visit  him  one  evening.  You 
have  some  days  before  received  a — let  us  call  it 
a  threatening  letter,  which  menaces  that  connec- 
tion that  you  consider  essential  to  your  life's  suc- 
cess. 

"After  a  year's  separation  between  people  who 
are  fond  of  each  other,  the  confidence  between 
them  usually  grows  much  greater.  I  will  there- 
fore quite  overlook  your  statement  that  you  did 
not  speak  to  Mr.  Saabye  about  your  letter  from 
Elly  Hansen.  I  consider  likewise  your  affirmed 
disregard  of  the  danger  it  represents,  to  be  false. 
You  have  talked  to  your  father  about  the  letter, 
and  asked  him  to  help  you  out  with  1000  kroner. 
Yes,  and  I  also  venture  to  state  that  you  un- 

[86] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

dertook  to  make  this  visit  of  reconciliation  with 
the  understandable  and  human  motive  of  getting 
your  foster-father  to  help  you  out  of  the  delicate 
situation  which  the  lady  had  caused.  You  have  a 
hasty  temperament.  Your  late  father  had  also  a 
hasty  temper.  An  old  wound  has  been  opened  up, 
and  all  this  has  happened  after  the  house-keeper 
has  gone  to  bed,  and  directly  before  you  and  your 
father  retired.  As  the  house-keeper's  bedroom  is 
out  by  the  kitchen,  she  has  heard  nothing  of  the 
bickering. 

"But  you  realize  that  you  have  gone  too  far,  and 
see  clearly  that  you  will  not  get  the  money  for  Elly 
Hansen,  and  that  the  new  breach  will  at  any  rate 
temporarily  make  it  difficult  for  you  to  ask  your 
father  for  any  kind  of  financial  assistance. 

"I  will  skip  the  intermediate  happenings  and 
only  emphasize  the  fact  that  you  are  the  only  male 
person  in  the  house  when  your  foster-father  was 
murdered.  You  know  the  combination  of  the  safe. 
You  know  that  there  is  money  in  it.  You  know 
where  the  murder  instrument,  the  razor,  is  kept. 

"The  door  cannot  be  opened  by  a  stranger,  and 
all  the  keys  have  been  proved  to  have  been  in  the 
house.  The  telephone  call  has  been  shown  to  be 
false.  Your  terror-stricken  flight,  however,  is  a 
fact,  to  which  is  joined  the  nicked  knife  with  which 
[87] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

you  cut  the  burglar  alarm  wire.     Your  bloody 
coat  and  handkerchief,  your  bloody  gloves  and — " 

Jorgensen  stopped  a  moment  and  laid  some 
money  down  in  front  of  Lange — "these  bloody 
notes  which  were  found  in  your  coat  pocket." 

Lange  shook  his  head  in  pained  bewilderment. 

"It  is  all  like  an  evil  dream,"  said  he,  "but  you 
forget  or  rather  overlook  a  somewhat  essential 
thing." 

"What?" 

"You  constantly  emphasize  that  I  am  not  insane, 
but  who  but  an  insane  person  would  have  commit- 
ted this  murder  in  such  an  unheard  of  and  idiotic 
manner?  Besides  it  would  be  ridiculous  for  me 
to  steal  the  money  which  would  be  mine  anvway 
after  my  father's  death.  As  the  sole  heir  to  quite 
a  large  fortune,  it  would  have  also  have  been  quite 
easy  for  me  to  have  borrowed  a  thousand  kroner 
for  Elly  Hansen — even  the  day  after." 

"If  I  am  forgetful,"  Jorgensen  resumed,  "you 
are  no  less  so.  You  are  not  the  first  example  of 
the  logical  criminal  who  has  built  up  the  whole 
deed  so  very  carefully  and  who  in  the  instant  when 
he  stands  face  to  face  with  his  crime  forgets  all 
and  everything  through  very  horror  and  only  flees." 

"I'm  no  criminal!"  insisted  Lange  hotly, 
"neither  logical  nor  illogical." 

[88] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"You  still  deny  everything  in  spite  of  all  evi- 
dence; in  spite  of  evident  guilt?" 

"Yes,  I  deny  having  any  knowledge  or  participa- 
tion in  this  murder." 

"Thanks,  that'll  do,"  sneered  the  District  At- 
torney, and  winked  at  the  recorder  as  if  to  say, 
"Hurry  it  up  a  little." 

The  record  was  read  for  the  accused  in  furious 
haste.  He  corrected  it  in  various  details.  The 
prosecutor  sat  and  glared  at  him,  half  surprised, 
half  angry.  He  had  never  seen  the  like  of  such 
impudence,  and  in  an  amateur. 

"Out  with  him!"  He  motioned  to  the  prison 
guard. 

The  man  opened  the  door  for  Lange.  The  win- 
dow in  his  anteroom  was  open.  The  fresh,  frosty 
air  streamed  into  the  close  arid  empty  place  with 
its  flickering  night  lights.  The  noises  of  the  street 
came  up  to  them;  the  measured  music  of  a  detach- 
ment of  soldiers. 

The  sweeping  tones  of  the  "Internationale." 

Einar  Lange  stopped  suddenly  on  the  threshold, 
and  stood  motionless  and  listened.  His  eyes  were 
closed.  They  all  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  He 
turned  quickly  on  his  heel,  and  went  into  the  court 
room  again  quite  over  to  the  bar.  The  District 
Attorney  was  putting  on  his  overcoat. 

[89] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"What  the  Devil  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"I  have  some  information  to  give,"  said  Einar 
Lange,  "which  I  ask  be  affixed  to  the  register.  I 
have  already  told  you  about  my  supposed  dream 
last  night.  Now  I  know  that  I  also  heard  music, 
and  the  piece  that  was  played  was  the  'Inter- 
nationale,' and  without  doubt  on  a  piano." 

The  testimony  was  entered  on  the  record. 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  uttered  Jorgen- 
sen,  "but  I  will  be  no  less  zealous  about  having  it 
looked  into —  The  next  time  we  meet,  I  hope,  for 
your  own  sake,  that  you  have  changed  your  tactics." 

Einar  Lange  was  brought  back  into  custody. 
When  he  was  alone  in  his  cell,  he  went  completely 
to  pieces,  and  wept  like  a  child. 

Even  Ada  Stock's  defence  of  him  had  been  full 
of  doubt  as  to  his  innocence.  They  all  condemned 
him  beforehand.  Both  people  and  the  law! 

And  he  wasn't  a  murderer.     He  wasn't! 

Or  had  he  in  a  fit  of  insanity — ? 

He  shuddered  from  cold  and  horror.  He  was 
bewildered.  He  could  do  nothing;  but  merely  sat 
with  his  dying  destiny  between  his  shaking  hands, 
and  was  unable  to  breathe  warmth  or  life  into  its 
soul. 


[90] 


CHAPTER  IV 

ARNE  FALK  turned  down  Helgolands 
Street.  It  was  about  eight  o'clock.  The 
snow  fell  again.  He  glanced  up  towards 
the  corner  where  the  Stocks  lived.  All  the  win- 
dows were  dark  except  one  where  the  light  burned 
low,  as  if  in  a  sick  room.  He  had  heard  that  Ada 
Stock  had  suddenly  become  ill  after  the  court  ex- 
amination. He  felt  so  sorry  for  her.  He  knew 
this  outwardly  cold  type  of  woman  who  could  go 
around  with  an  aching  heart  and  a  conventional 
smile  on  her  lips. 

She  also  considered  Lange  to  be  the  murderer 
just  as  the  law  and  the  whole  city  did.  The  evi- 
dence was  too  overwhelming,  and  people  had  had 
less  cause  for  killing  a  man  than  Einar  Lange  had 
had;  he  who  would  have  gained  a  fortune  and  a 
bride,  and  warded  off  an  overhanging  danger  by 
his  crime.  The  motive  had  been  very  clear.  The 
unusual  clumsiness  about  the  execution  of  the  deed 
must  simply  be  put  down  to  the  fact  that  Lange 
had  after  the  murder  become  horror-stricken  at 
his  deed. 

[91] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

It  was  all  as  clear  as  sunlight.  One  only  won- 
dered at  such  a  hopeless  denial.  Falk  had  a 
slightly  different  opinion.  It  seemed  quite  ob- 
vious to  him  that  the  case  was  far  more  difficult 
than  appeared  upon  the  surface,  but  if  he  doubted 
Einar  Lange's  guilt,  yes,  even  his  participation  in 
the  murder — then  it  was  because  his  experience 
led  him  at  once  to  the  band  who  in  the  spring  and 
summer  had  committed  so  many  trackless  rob- 
beries, and  who  had  eluded  the  police  so  success- 
fully. 

Their  gain  had  happened  to  be  comparatively 
small,  but  it  could  not  be  denied  that  their  opera- 
tions had  been  conducted  in  a  manner  so  traceless 
that  it  pointed  to  the  direction  of  a  high  criminal 
intelligence. 

What  if  this  band  was  in  back  of  the  whole 
crime?  Falk  easily  perceived  how  fantastic  his 
hypothesis  was,  but  if  Lange  was  innocent,  which 
he  was  almost  inclined  to  think,  then  this  band's 
criminal  cleverness  was  the  only  one  that  Falk 
could  consider  on  a  par  with  the  mystery  of  the 
crime. 

Some  one  greeted  him  and  stopped.  It  was  In- 
spector Jensen-Skandrup. 

"Good  evening!"  he  shook  hands  cordially. 

"How  goes  it?" 

[92] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Tonight  he  is  to  be  confronted  with  the  body," 
said  the  Inspector.  "That'll  make  him  talk  all 
right.  We  put  something  of  the  dramatic  into  it, 
you  see.  Most  all  of  them  fall  for  it.  Besides, 
he's  admitted  that  he  knew  the  will  was  unchanged 
in  spite  of  the  bad  feeling  between  him  and 
Saabye.  His  foster-father  had  told  him  that  him- 
self, so  he  shows  there  what  he  did  when  he — well. 
But  you  haven't  heard  the  latest.  You  remember 
his  fairy-tale  about  a  dream  with  a  hand  and  a 
light  and  some  noise.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it.  But  I'll  be  damned  if  it 
hasn't  turned  out  to  be  an  actual  fact.  Some  of  it 
at  any  rate." 

Falk  smiled: 

"So  you  believe  in  that  too?" 

"Yes,  I  pretty  nearly  have  to.  We  have  gone 
into  the  matter,  and  it  has  been  shown,  first,  that 
the  moonlight  at  the  time  the  murder  was  commit- 
ted really  did  shine  through  an  opening  in  the  cur- 
tain, and  fell  on  the  writing  desk  as  he  said.  But 
the  noise  could  be  at  least  satisfactorily  explained 
by  the  razor  being  put  in  the  vase  on  the  writing 
desk  shelf.  And  the  hand  could  have  been  his 
own — eh — eh?" 

"Did  you  also  clear  up  that  rushing  and  roaring 
he  spoke  about?"  asked  Falk. 
[93] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Yes,  barely  an  hour  ago;  it  sounded  a  bit  fishy 
but  now  it  is  as  clear  as  brandy." 

"And  what  was  it  then?" 

"Music." 

"What  music?" 

"Well,  he  suddenly  thought  of  it  this  afternoon. 
It  was  this  here — what — d'you  call  it — 'Inter- 
nationale.' ' 

"And  you  have  substantiated  that  he  had  or 
could  have  heard  it?" 

"Yes,  that's  just  what  we  have.  There  is  only 
one  little  peculiarity  about  it?" 

"And  what's  that?"  asked  Falk. 

"We  inquired  about,"  explained  the  Inspector, 
"both  in  No.  10,  12,  14  and  the  house  on  the  back 
and  side,  and  there  is  really  one  of  the  musical 
ladies  or  gents  there,  but  still  only  one — who  plays 
the  'Internationale.'  She  lives,  by  the  way,  in 
No.  10,  the  house  next  door." 

"And  that  one?" 

"Insists  that  she  played  the  tune  at  a  quarter  to 
twelve,  at  which  time  she  closed  the  piano  and 
went  to  bed." 

"That  is,  a  full  half  hour  before  Saabye  was 
murdered — and    before    the    murder    instrument 
could  have  been  put  in  the  vase." 
[94] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Yes,  just!  The  lady  has  a  mantel-piece  clock 
that  was  wound  up  three  days  ago  and  is  absolutely 
correct. 

"Well,"  Jensen-Skandrup  continued,  "I  don't 
know  what  you  think.  But  I  think  that  the  whole 
story  is  just  something  that  the  fellow  has  cooked 
up  to  bewilder  us.  And  it  is  clearly  nothing  but 
thoughtlessness  that  made  him  drag  this  music  into 
it — I  don't  believe  that  the  money  is  burned  either. 
He  found  some  place  all  right  on  his  way  to  Stock's 
where  he  could  hide  it.  Burning  several  thou- 
sand kroner!  There  is  a  limit,  by  God,  to  how 
idiotic  a  person  can  be."  The  Inspector  was  quite 
indignant  at  the  thought. 

"I  am  of  the  same  opinion  as  you,"  nodded  Falk. 
"The  money  was  not  destroyed." 

Jensen-Skandrup  swelled  like  a  pouter  pigeon. 
Falk  had  through  various  experiences  become  his 
very  ideal  of  a  detective. 

"We  two,  eh?"  he  grinned.  "We  can  solve  any- 
thing. If  we  have  time  enough." 

"Apropos,  time!"  Falk  stopped  abruptly  but 
continued  again: 

"There  is  always  somebody  at  the  house?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

Falk  nodded  genially. 

[95] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Well,  I  must  be  going." 

Jensen-Skandrup  raised  his  hat  absent-mindedly, 
and  looked  after  him  for  a  long  time: 

"He  has  something  or  other  up  his  sleeve," 
he  mumbled  half  regretfully,  half  wonderingly. 
"Another  wild  goose  chase!  He's  full  of  sur- 
prises, that  fellow.  Heaven  only  knows  what  he 
meant  by  'apropos,  time'!" 

The  Inspector  drifted  grumblingly  into  a  res- 
taurant and  ordered  his  dinner — and  ruminated 
about  Falk — . 

The  latter  had  already  turned  down  Isted  Street 
which  he  followed  almost  to  the  corner  of  Saxo 
Street.  A  couple  of  houses  from  it  he  stopped  and 
went  into  a  plain,  unpretentious  rooming-house. 
He  had  got  the  idea  after  the  court  examination 
that  perhaps  Elly  Hansen  could  put  him  on  the 
track  of  something,  or  rather  she  was  the  only 
point  of  suspicion  in  so  far  as  she  could  have  been 
the  cause  of  the  crime.  If  Lange,  that  is,  had  had 
something  to  do  with  it. 

She  lived  on  the  second  floor  in  a  three-room 
flat.  The  door  knob  was  brightly  polished.  Falk 
rang  and  waited.  No  one  came.  He  repeated 
his  ring  but  still  nobody  came.  He  was  about  to 
give  up  for  the  time  being,  when  he  heard  some  one 

[96] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

below  carefully  open  the  street  door,  and  creep 
quietly  up  the  stairs.  There  was  something  so 
very  cautious  about  the  footsteps  that  he  became 
suspicious.  A  man  was  only  so  careful  when  he 
did  not  wish  to  meet  any  of  the  people  of  the 
house. 

Falk  leaned  over  the  banister.  The  cautious 
one  was  a  small  humpbacked  man.  He  was 
nearly  at  the  first  landing  now.  By  the  light  of  the 
dull  gas  jet,  Falk  could  see  his  face,  and  recog- 
nized it  at  once.  The  cobbler  from  Saxo  Street. 
He  had  (been  very  quiet  during  this  past  year  but 
the  year  before  he  had  been  very  well  known  to 
the  police.  It  was  said  that  he'd  got  religion. 
Just  now,  however,  something  beside  pure  Chris- 
tianity shone  out  of  his  unshaven  face.  It  was  un- 
deniably a  bit  sinister. 

Falk  went  up  to  the  next  landing.  A  passing 
street  car  luckily  drowned  his  steps  so  that  the 
other  could  not  hear  them.  Falk  silently  blessed  it. 
The  cobbler  stopped  on  the  second  landing,  and 
knocked  softly  on  Elly  Hansen's  door.  What  in 
the  deuce  was  he  doing  down  there?  When  no 
one  came  to  the  door  he  rang.  Four  short  rings. 
A  certain  pre-arranged  signal?  But  still  no  one 
came. 

[97] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

Falk  heard  him  mutter  several  blistering  oaths. 
What  under  the  sun  did  the  cobbler  want  of  Elly 
Hansen?  One  of  her  cavaliers  he  certainly  was 
not!  She  had — or  at  any  rate  had  had — a  well 
cultivated  taste  for  comfort  and  a  filled  pocket- 
book,  and  was  not  hindered  by  that  romantic, 
protective  idea  which  made  so  many  of  the  city's 
fly-by-nights  dependent  on  a  lover  of  their  own 
status  in  society. 

Falk  was  silent  as  the  grave.  The  cobbler  rang 
once  more.  Then  the  street  door  opened,  and  he 
heard  some  one  come  up  the  stairs  humming  cheer- 
fully, pass  the  first  landing  and  go  on.  He  looked 
down  cautiously.  It  was  Elly  Hansen.  He  saw 
her  stop  on  the  landing,  and  regard  the  cobbler 
with  an  almost  hostile  look: 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  he  heard  her  burst 
out.  "Didn't  I  tell  you  once  and  for  all  not  to 
be  following  me  around?" 

The  humpbacked  gnome  bowed  in  artificial 
humbleness. 

"I  know  you  are  mad  with  me,  Elly,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "But  I  am,  after  all,  your  own  brother, 
and  I  must  speak  with  you." 

"About  what?"  Her  tone  was  still  cold  but  she 
talked  in  the  same  low  voice  as  her  brother. 

[98] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"It's  so  hard  for  father  and  me  to  get  along," 
he  whined.  "We  don't  know  which  way  to  turn, 
and  we  have  hardly  a  bite  to  eat." 

"Well,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  me?" 

"I  thought  maybe  that  you — " 

"Didn't  I  make  it  clear  last  time?  I'm  not  going 
to  help  you  any  more.  I've  other  uses  for  my 
money." 

"I'll  have  to  talk  to  Nielsen  then,"  and  her 
brother  straightened  himself  suddenly.  His  glit- 
tering black  eyes  gleamed  evilly. 

"I  don't  know  where  he  is,"  said  Elly  frostily 
and  turned  to  open  the  door. 

The  cobbler  placed  himself  in  the  way. 

"You'd  better  find  out  pretty  quick,"  he  snarled 
threateningly.  "Or  else — " 

"Or  else — else — "  she  said  scornfully. 

"We  must  use  other  means!" 

"You  bum!"  She  glared  at  him.  "Do  you  think 
Nielsen  is  afraid  of  you?  Of  you?" 

"I  can  make  him  afraid,"  her  brother  smiled 
wickedly. 

She  pushed  him  to  one  side. 

"All  right,  all  right!     Beat  it." 

"Then  we  may  hope  that  very  soon — " 

"Yes,  I'll  tell  him  to  look  you  up  but  I  haven't 
[99] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 
seen  him  since  yesterday  afternoon.     Good-bye." 

She  slammed  the  door  in  his  face.  The  cobbler 
looked  at  it  with  a  malicious  smile. 

"I'll  get  the  best  of  you  yet,  old  girl,"  he  whis- 
pered hoarsely  and  spat.  "You  slut!" 

He  went  noisily  down  the  stairs.  Falk  followed 
him.  The  cobbler's  close  relationship  to  Elly 
Hansen  opened  up  unthought-of  possibilities.  A 
crook  who  played  religious  was  capable  of  any- 
thing. Such  was  Falk's  belief  anyway. 

"What  if  the  cobbler—!" 

He  dismissed  the  thought  hurriedly. 

In  that  case,  he  would  not  have  been  in  such  dire 
straits  as  was  evidenced  from  his  begging  from  his 
sister.  It  was  quite  another  thing,  though,  if  he 
had  some  connection  or  other  with  the  real  crim- 
inal. 

Just  at  present,  the  grounds  for  suspicion  were 
rather  weak.  Any  one  of  the  city's  thousands  of 
crooks  could  just  as  well  be  implicated  in  the  mur- 
der as  he.  But  Falk  followed  him  anyway. 

The  cobbler  turned  down  Saxo  Street,  and  dis- 
appeared in  his  cellar.  Falk  waited  until  he  saw 
a  light  lit  in  the  room  back  of  the  shop.  Then  he 
knocked  and  went  in  without  waiting  for  an  an- 
swer. 

[100] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

The  cobbler  popped  up  in  the  doorway  at  that 
instant  like  some  dwarf  of  the  underworld. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked  harshly. 

Falk  stepped  into  the  belt  of  light  that  was 
thrown  by  the  lamp  on  the  table. 

"It  is  I,"  he  said.  "Good  evening.  It  is  quite 
a  while  since  we  have  had  one  of  our  little 
chats." 

The  cobbler  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  threshold 
and  barred  the  way  to  the  back  room. 

"This  is  an  honour,  Mr.  Falk,"  he  purred,  "but 
my  poor  father  is  sick.  It  rests  in  God's  hand, 
His  almighty  hand,  whether  he  will  ever  arise  from 
his  bed  of  pain." 

"Is  he  as  stewed  as  all  that?"  smiled  Falk  and 
pushed  the  cobbler  merrily  but  firmly  aside,  and 
went  into  the  back  room.  A  grunting  sound  came 
from  the  darkness  where  the  cobbler's  bed  stood. 

Falk  lit  a  cigar. 

"So  your  old  man  is  still  hitting  the  booze?" 

The  cobbler  despondently  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"I  try  to  hide  it  from  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
God  forgive  me!"  He  folded  his  hands.  "His 
flesh  is  still  sinful,  but  the  Lord  Christ  will  save 
him." 

[101] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Don't  you  think  a  temperance  cure  would  be 
better?" 

"I  believe  in  the  Lord,"  chanted  the  cobbler. 
"He  who  knows  all  has  both  refuge  and  salvation 
for  a  worthy  old  man."  He  bent  down  over  his 
father. 

"Shouldn't  we  rather  say  a  worthy  old  scoun- 
drel?" said  Falk  coolly.  "But  you  have  become 
converted?" 

"I  have  sought  the  Lord  Jesus  and  I  have  found 
him,"  brayed  the  cobbler. 

"But  does  it  bring  in  any  cash?"  Falk  still 
smiled. 

"A  man  whom  His  Majesty — "  grunted  the  old 
man  from  his  corner  " — whom  His  Majesty  shook 
hands  with — " 

"Has  your  father  had  an  audience  lately?" 
asked  Falk. 

The  cobbler  did  not  seem  to  understand: 

"Father  is  a  little  childish,"  he  said  with  a  syr- 
upy smile. 

"He  is!"  exclaimed  Falk,  inwardly  wondering 
at  a  childishness  that  had  led  its  possessor  from 
one  prison  to  another. 

"You  see  His  Majesty — God  save  him — was 
once  on  a  visit  through  the  coops — the  prisons! — 
[102] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

and   met  father   and   shook   his  hand — and   he 
can't—" 

"How  touching,"  said  Falk.  "What  prison  was 
it?" 

"Ah,  humanity  is  but  weak.  But  the  Lord  God 
is  a  merciful  judge,"  exclaimed  the  cobbler 
piously. 

"Last  night  you  weren't  so  holy.  Things  weren't 
running  so  very  smoothly  then." 

The  cobbler  bowed  his  head  in  remorse. 

"The  spirit  is  willing,"  he  said,  "but  the  flesh 
is  weak." 

"What  were  you  doing  out  on  Osterbro  so  late? 
It  was  eleven  thirty." 

The  cobbler  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"I  wasn't  on  Osterbro  last  night.  I  haven't  set 
foot  there  in  the  last  two  weeks." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  was  you,"  insisted  Falk,  "but  maybe 
it  was  a  little  later  than  eleven  thirty." 

"You  were  mistaken,"  protested  the  other. 
"The  old  man  and  I  sat  at  Nikola j sen's  from  nine 
until  closing  time  at  twelve  o'clock.  That  was 
mostly  for  father's  sake,"  he  added  with  sham  con- 
cern. "I  don't  go  there  very  much  myself  but 
one  has  some  responsibility,  and  he  is  helpless 
when  he  has  had  too  much." 

[103] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Does  he  live  with  you?" 

"No,  he  has  a  room  in  the  attic  that  goes  with 
the  basement  here,  but  he  often  rests  down  here. 
For  he  is  old  and  weak.  Ah,  the  world  is,  indeed, 
sinful." 

"What  does  he  live  by?"  asked  Falk. 

The  cobbler  tried  with  no  success  to  appear  un- 
concerned. 

"Oh,  the  'Army'  helps  him  a  little,  and  then 
he  helps  me  in  the  shop  now  and  then.  But  that 
doesn't  amount  to  much.  Still  the  Lord,  the  Al- 
mighty— " 

Falk  interrupted  him  quietly. 

"Look  here,  I  always  respect  the  instinct  of 
self-preservation  no  matter  how  filthily  it  may  be 
masquerading.  Whether  it's  in  crime  or  religion. 
But  I  also  wish  to  have  my  intelligence  respected 
or  my  instinct.  Whatever  you  wish  to  call  it. 
And  it  tells  me:  First,  that  this  nauseating  cloak 
of  religion  is  a  sham.  Secondly,  that  you  are  in 
the  game  again.  Your  protests  are  superfluous. 
I  know  very  well  that  your  lungs  can't  stand  it. 
But  the  law  can't  either,  and  one  of  these  days 
you'll  get  it,  but  until  then  I'll  give  you  a  chance. 
There  is  a  case  that  I'm  interested  in.  Can  you 
guess  which?" 

The  cobbler  did  not  try  to  play  stupid. 
[104] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"The  murder  case  last  night,"  he  said  sullenly. 
His  piousness  had  utterly  slipped  from  him. 

Falk  nodded: 

"I  hope  and  do  not  believe  that  you  yourself 
had  anything  to  do  with  it.  But  perhaps  you  have 
heard  something  or  other.  You  move  just  as  I 
do — in  certain  circles.  And  they  are  a  little  more 
open  to  you.  In  other  words,  there  is  some  money 
to  be  made." 

The  cobbler  reflected  a  moment.  His  voice 
dropped  as  he  said  oilily: 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can.     Of  course,  it's  a  dirty 

__  99 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  listened.  A  cautious 
knock  was  heard  outside  of  the  shop.  The  cob- 
bler opened  the  door  to  the  kitchen  and  smiled 
crookedly. 

"If  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  step  this  way?" 

"Do  you  expect  ladies?" 

The  cobbler  smiled  again.  "I  am  but  a  man, 
thank  the  Lord."  He  still  stood  with  his  hand  on 
the  knob  of  the  open  door.  A  gust  of  cold, 
clammy  air  filled  the  room. 

"I  hate  back  stairways,"  said  Falk.  "I'll  close 
my  eyes  as  the  ladies  go  by." 

The  cobbler  closed  the  kitchen  door.  For  a 
moment  he  was  clearly  nonplussed,  but  as  the 
[105] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

knocking  continued,  he  turned  sullenly,  and  hur- 
ried out  in  the  shop. 

Falk  heard  him  open  the  door  and  exclaim  with 
disappointment : 

"Is  it  only  you,  Nielsen?    I  thought  it  was  Jen- 


sine." 


Falk  went  out  in  the  shop.  As  he  did  so  he  saw 
the  man  whom  the  cobbler  called  Nielsen  throw 
the  cigarette  butt  he  was  smoking  up  on  the  street 
and  tramp  into  the  shop,  rubbing  his  benumbed 
fingers. 

He  started  as  he  saw  Falk,  but  merely  greeted 
him  with  a  sullen  pull  at  his  slouch  hat,  and 
lounged  into  the  back  room  while  the  cobbler,  bow- 
ing humbly,  ushered  Falk  out  and  locked  the  door 
behind  him. 

The  light  from  the  street  lamp  fell  on  the  snowy, 
icy  sidewalk.  A  cigarette  butt  lay  there,  the  one 
Nielsen  had  thrown  away.  It  had  such  a  unique 
look  that  Falk  bent  over  and  picked  it  up,  looked 
at  it  in  surprise  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"I'll  be  hanged,"  he  murmured  thoughtfully 
and  cut  across  the  street  to  Nikola j  sen's  Cafe  and 
went  in. 

The  little,  smoky  place  with  the  sanded  floor, 
the  beer  advertisements  on  the  walls,  and  the  red- 
[106] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

checked  tablecloths  was  nearly  empty.  Some  of 
the  neighbourhood's  "messieurs  des  femmes"  were 
playing  pool  in  the  next  room.  They  were  in 
their  pink  striped  shirt  sleeves,  and  wrist  watches 
gleamed  golden  on  their  fat,  pale  wrists.  Nikolaj- 
sen  watched  the  game  with  interest  until  he  no- 
ticed Falk.  The  latter  ordered  whiskey. 

"Well,   well,   good   evening,   Mr.   Falk."     He 
rolled  over  to  his  distinguished  visitor  smiling  his 
welcome.     "To  what  do  I  owe  this  honour?     A 
bit  of  a  chase,  eh?" 
Falk  shrugged. 

"Life  is  nothing  but  a  chase,  Nikolajsen." 
Nikolajsen    laughed    in    assent:     "So   'tis,   by 
Gawd!     So  'tis!" 

"I  also  took  a  little  run  over  to  the  cobbler's," 
Falk  told  him.  "He  comes  here  quite  often,  doesn't 
he?" 

"Yes,  he  gives  me  all  his  trade." 
"He  had  a  nice  jag  last  night,  eh?" 
"A  little  bird  must  have  told  you  that.     But  it 
was  mostly  the  old  man.     I  could  hardly  get  him 
out  although  it  was  after  twelve.     He  can't  carry 
a  load  like  he  used  to." 

The  host  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  compassion- 
ate disdain. 

[1071 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 
"No,  it's  not  given  to  all  of  us  to  last  as  long  as 
you,    Nikolajsen.     You've    got    it    down    to    a 


science." 


"B'  Gawd,  so  I  have,"  boasted  the  host.  "But 
I'm  no  spring  chicken  any  more." 

"And  they  started  in  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon?" continued  Falk  visibly  impressed. 

"The  cobbler  and  his  old  man,"  protested  Nik- 
olajsen, "didn't  get  here  until  nine  thirty  but  then 
they  did  get  busy." 

"Then  they  actually  sat  here  for  two  hours  and 
tipped  the  bottle?" 

"Yes,  you  can  bet  your  boots  they  did.  They 
crooked  their  elbows  all  right.  But  we  made  an 
evening  of  it  too.  And  the  cobbler  soon  forgot 
his  religion." 

Falk  lifted  the  shade  and  looked  out. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  the  snow?"  and  motioned 
to  the  waiter. 

"Two  shots  here,  Severinsen." 

"Yes,  I  hate  a  snowstorm,"  nodded  Falk. 

From  the  window  where  he  sat,  he  had  when  he 
lifted  the  shade  a  very  good  view  of  the  cobbler's 
cellar.  Quite  often  while  enjoying  his  second 
drink,  he  peeped  out  from  behind  it.  But  he  was 
not  afraid  of  the  snowstorm.  He  was  waiting  for 
Nielsen,  the  printer. 

[108] 


CHAPTER  V 

WHEN  the  cobbler  had  locked  the  door 
behind  Falk,  he  went  sullenly  into 
the  back  room  where  Nielsen  waited 
for  him,  smoking  a  fresh  cigarette. 

His  dirty  fingers  seemed  to  caress  it  as  he  took  it 
from  his  mouth,  to  remark  with  a  sarcastic  smile: 

"Well,  you've  had  a  visit.  A  visit  by  law  and 
order." 

The  cobbler  fidgeted. 

Suddenly  the  other's  smile  became  icy  and  his 
voice  cold  and  cutting  as  he  said: 

"Look  out,  don''t  burn  yourself!" 

The  cobbler  protested: 

"I'd  no  idea  he  was  coming."  His  sullenness 
had  changed  to  humble  and  eager  explanation. 
There  was  something  so  strange  about  this  Nielsen. 
One  felt  insignificant  beside  him.  It  was  as  if  he 
could  read  all  your  thoughts. 

"You  didn't!'"   said  Nielsen  scornfully. 

"No,  I  tell  you.     And  I  was  expecting  you  any 
minute.     So  if  I  had  been  going  to  get  the  bulls,  I 
would  have  had  him  come  at  some  other  time." 
[109] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"But  it's  a  dog's  life,"  he  added,  "and  maybe  it 
wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to  have  a  surer  way  of 
making  a  living." 

Nielsen  smiled  poisonously. 

"Yes,  maybe!  Elly  tells  me  that  you're  dissat- 
isfied with  me." 

The  cobbler  looked  away: 

"It's  only  that  it's  so  devilish  hard  to  get  along," 
he  muttered,  "and  the  four  or  five  jobs  we've 
pulled  off  together  didn't  get  us  much." 

"No,  because  you're  so  thick  and  didn't  use 
your  head.  When  a  fellow  is  out  on  a  job  and 
there's  2000  kroner  in  a  bureau  drawer,  it's  the 
usual  thing  to  open  the  drawer  and  nail  the  money 
—  The  last  time  you  were  drunk  and  nearly 
spoiled  everything.  I've  no  use  for  drunks.  I'd 
sooner  lay  low.  I  have  kept  my  promise. 
You're  the  one  who's  broken  the  contract.'1' 

The  cobbler  looked  up  in  sudden  resolution. 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  he  said.  "We 
have  worked  together  and  you  must  help  me  now 
or  we'll  starve  to  death." 

"You  have  your  religion,"  mocked  Nielsen,  "and 
your  stool  pigeons.  You'll  get  more  pity  too  if 
you're  not  too  fat.  No  one  will  starve  to  death  in 
this  country  if  he's  sufficiently  pious." 

The  cobbler  stared  at  him.  His  voice  rose  to 
[110] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

a  growl  as  he  said:   "If  you  won't  help  us,  I'll  go 
elsewhere." 

"Where,  may  I  ask?"  Nielsen  was  visibly 
amused. 

"To  the  gentleman  you  saw  a  little  while  ago," 
threatened  the  cobbler,  egged  on  by  the  other's 
scorn.  "He's  a  man  who'll  pay  big  for  some 
good  dope." 

Nielsen  calmly  knocked  the  ashes  off  his  cigar- 
ette. 

"I  make  no  threats,  Hansen.  But  if  you  ever 
do  say  anything  concerning  me  to  this  man,  I 
advise  you  to  look  around  for  a  grave  at  once. 
For  God  strike  me  dead,  if  I  don't  kill  you." 

Nielsen  had  got  up  from  his  seat  and  his  eyes 
blazed  so  behind  his  glasses  that  the  cobbler  began 
to  shake. 

"I  didn't  mean  just  that,"  he  mumbled,  and 
offered  the  printer  his  hand.  "You  and  I  are 
pals." 

Nielsen  seated  himself  again.  He  was  pale 
with  excitement  and  did  not  seem  to  notice  the 
cobbler's  outstretched  hand. 

"You  forget,  too,"  he  continued  more  calmly, 
"that  you  have  a  couple  of  years  to  your  credit — 
and  your  lungs.  Even  at  the  best,  you  too  would 
have  to  rot  in  jail." 

[in] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

The  cobbler  nodded  humbly: 

"I  know  it,  Nielsen.  I  know  it.  It  was  only 
that  I  was  so  upset — " 

"I'll  give  you  a  ten-spot,"  said  the  other  shortly 
and  began  to  search  through  an  old  worn  wallet. 
He  handed  the  cobbler  a  crumpled  bill.  "I  can't 
spare  any  more." 

The  cobbler  looked  at  it  disappointedly  but  did 
not  dare  to  ask  for  more.  His  father  turned  over 
and  grunted.  But  the  son  did  not  notice,  only 
stared  at  the  bill,  then  suddenly  took  his  eyes  from 
it  and  put  the  note  in  his  pocket. 

Nielsen  had  not  noticed  his  face.  He  Sorted 
some  of  the  papers  in  the  wallet.  Then  he  closed 
it,  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  stood  up: 

"Good  night,"  he  said  and  was  about  to  go. 

The  cobbler  fawningly  shook  his  hand. 

Suddenly  he  asked:   "Have  you  cut  yourself?" 

Nielsen  looked  at  him  in  surprise: 

"Gut  myself?" 

"Yes,  or  had  a  nosebleed?" 

"Are  you  fooling?"  sneered  the  other.  "What 
in  hell  makes  you  think  I've  cut  myself  or  had  a 
nosebleed??' 

"Let's  see  your  hands?"  leered  the  cobbler. 

Nielsen  held  them  out  in  the  lamplight,  ostenta- 
tiously willing. 

[112] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Don't  you  want  to  see  my  belly  too?  Or  my 
legs? 

"What  in  hell's  name  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

Nielsen  drew  his  hands  away  as  if  he  had  burnt 
them. 

"Why  do  you  ask  if  I  have  cut  myself?" 

^Because  there  is  blood  on  the  bill,"  grinned 
the  cobbler. 

"Nonsense!"     Nielsen  grew  quite  pale. 

"Nonsense,"  he  repeated,  "let's  see  it." 

"So  that  you'd  swipe  it  from  me,"  the  other 
smiled  craftily.  "No,  we  won't  play  that  way." 

The  printer  shrugged  his  shoulders  but  said 
nothing.  His  eyes  did  not  leave  the  cobbler's  ill- 
shaven  face  for  one  instant. 

"You  saw  Elly  last  night,  didn't  you?"  re- 
marked the  other  quietly. 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"Elly  told  me  herself." 

"Maybe  she  lied." 

"And  why  should  she  lie?"  the  cobbler's  smile 
broadened. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Nielsen*  evasively. 
"Women  often  lie  for  the  sake  of  lying." 

"Yes,  and  men,"  nodded  the  cobbler,  "usually 
have  weightier  reasons  than  that." 

He  filled  his  pipe,  lit  it,  and  calmly  seated  him- 
[113] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

self  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  as  if  it  was  a  matter  of 
course  that  they  would  continue  their  conversation. 

"You  were  at  Elly's  last  night  then?'1' 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours?" 

"And  between  eleven  and  twelve?"  grinned  the 
cobbler  unabashed,  and  went  on  quickly  without 
waiting  for  an  answer: 

"Did  you  read  about  the  murder  last  night?  A 
lot  of  money  is*  said  to  have  disappeared.1" 

Nielsen  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes. 

"I  must  be  going,"  he  said. 

"If  there  is  blood  on  any  of  it,"  continued  the 
cobbler,  "the  fellow  that  took  it  had  better  watch 
out." 

Nielsen  smiled  wickedly. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  nonsense?  Is 
it  your  honoured  belief  that  the  money  I  gave  you 
is  from  the  mysterious  safe?" 

The  cobbler  had  suddenly  become  silent. 

"Or  that  it  is  me  that  killed  him?"  continued 
Nielsen.  "If  I  had  I  would  be  better  off  than  I 
am  now.  Come,  what  do  you  say?1" 

"I  didn't  mean  anything,"  grunted  the  cobbler. 

Nielsen  nodded  curtly. 

"And  the  better  it  is  for  you,"  he  said  and  went 
out  in  the  shop.     "Stick  to  your  religion.     That 
hurts  nobody, — And  remember  what  I  said  before: 
[114] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

No  tricks!  Or  I'll  cure  you  of  the  talking  habit  for 
life." 

The  cobbler  opened  the  door  for  him.  When 
the  other  was  half  way  up  the  steps,  he  whispered : 

"Wash  your  fingers'  better!  There's  blood  un- 
der your  nails!"  and  quickly  slammed  the  door. 

Nielsen  stretched  out  his  hand  in  the  lamplight 
and  gazed  at  it.  He  heard  a  mocking  laugh  from 
the  cellar.  He  shook  himself,  put  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  lounged  down  towards  Isted 
Street. 

Just  then  a  man  came  out  of  Nikola j  sen's  Cafe. 
The  street  was  white  and  deserted.  It  was  there- 
fore more  than  difficult  for  him  to  follow  the  printer 
without  his  knowing  it.  The  man  waited  until 
the  printer  had  turned  the  corner  of  Isted  Street, 
then  he  hurried  after  him. 

It  was  Arne  Falk.  He  stopped  at  the  corner 
and  saw  Nielsen  stop  outside  of  Elly  Hansen's 
house  and  look  up  at  her  lighted  window- — then 
open  the  street  door  and  lock  it  behind  him. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  street,  Falk  discovered 
a  book-seller's  window  that  interested  him  deeply, 
and  none  the  less  because  from  there  he  had  a  fine 
view  of  the  place  where  Elly  Hansen  lived.  Her 
windows  were  the  only  ones  in  the  whole  house 
that  were  lit  up.  Then  he  saw  the  printer's 
[115] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

shadow  slip  past  the  window  shade's  yellow  sur- 
face, with  an  apparently  excited  gesture. 

What  the  deuce  was  happening  up  there? 
Now  the  light  went  out.  In  the  frosty  air  of  the 
quiet  street,  sounds  travelled  quickly.  Falk  heard 
the  door  up  there  open  and  hurriedly  shut  again, 
and  the  foot-steps  of  some  one  coming  down  the 
stairs.  Steps  that  he  seemed  to  know!  He 
slipped  over  to  the  street  door  which  was  sud- 
denly opened  by — Preben  Miller! 

He  recognized  Falk  at  once. 

"Good  evening.  What  are  you  sniffing  around 
for?" 

"I'm  getting  some  fresh  air,"  laughed  Falk, 
"and  you?" 

"I've  just  visited  a  mutual  acquaintance  of  ours 
—Miss  Elly  Hansen." 

"But  the  idyll  was  interrupted?"  smiled  Falk. 

"Beg  pardon?"  Miller  looked  at  him  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Isn't  the  lady  engaged  to  a  printer  called  Niel- 
sen?" 

Miller  slipped  and  dropped  his  stick: 

"By  Satan,  but  it's  icy  here! — How  the  deuce 
do  you  know  him?" 

"I  was,  you  might  say,  introduced  to  him  last 
fall  down  at  the  cobbler's." 
[116] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"The  cobbler's?" 

"Yes,  one  of  those  Saxo  Street  birds." 

"I  haven't  had  the  honour,"  complained  Miller 
smilingly. 

"Nielsen,  however,  I  have  met  several  times. 
He's  not  just  what  you  might  call  attractive." 

"He's  jealous,  perhaps." 

"It  looks  as  if  he  is."     Miller  lit  a  cigarette. 

"May  I  have  it  a  moment?"  asked  Falk. 

Miller  gave  it  to  him  in  surprise.  Falk  began 
to  compare  it  with  the  cigarette  stub  that  Nielsen 
had  thrown  away: 

"They  are  both  Sunkas,"  he  said  and  showed 
them  to  Miller.  They  stood  under  a  street  light. 

"Where  did  you  find  that  butt?"  asked  the 
writer. 

"Nielsen  threw  it  away  as  he  went  in  the  cob- 
bler's place."  Miller  whistled  softly. 

"Now  I  understand  why  I  always  miss  cigarettes 
when  I  visit  Elly.  She  simply  grabs  them  for 
him.  I'll  just  put  a  stop  to  that!  They  cost  too 
damn  much  to  be  wasted  on  a  bum  like  him.'1' 

They  had  gone  some  yards  from  the  house. 
Falk  stopped: 

"I'm  going  the  other  way,"  he  said,  "good 
night." 

"Good  night.'1'  Miller  sauntered  down  the  street. 
[117] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Falk  stood  still  and  lit  a  cigar.  Then  he  loitered 
over  to  the  other  side  of  the  street.  A  sign  over 
the  door  advertised  the  fact  that  there  was  a  pay 
telephone  within.  By  looking  in  the  directory  he 
found  that  Elly  Hansen  had  a  telephone,  and  from 
the  telephone  booth  nearest  the  door  he  had  a  fine 
view  of  her  house  directly  across  the  way.  He 
asked  for  her  number.  "Hurry,  please,"  he 
added.  Several  seconds  passed.  Then  a  light 
was  lit  in  the  house  across  the  street,  and  he  saw 
Elly  Hansen — as  a  fleeting  shadow  on  the  shade — 
pass  the  window  on  the  way  to  the  telephone. 

"Hello,"  Falk  made  his  voice  sound  rough. 

A  clicking  hello  came  from  the  other  end  of 
the  wire. 

"Is  this  Miss  Elly  Hansen?" 

"Yes,"  The  voice  was  more  reserved  now. 

"Is  Nielsen  there?" 

Falk  heard  something  like  a  smothered  scream. 
She  must  have  been  frightened  at  something  or 
other.  Her  voice  shook,  too,  as,  in  response  to 
his  repeated  question  about  Nielsen,  she  countered 
with  a  question  as  to  whom  she  was  speaking. 

"This  is  one  of  his  friends,  Printer  Petersen." 

"There  must  be  a  mistake  somewhere.  I  don't 
know  any  one  named  Nielsen." 

Falk  heard  her  slam  down  the  receiver.  He 
[118] 


TWO    DEAD   MEN 

looked  out.  The  light  still  burned  in  her  room. 
He  waited  about  half  a  minute  and  then  again  gave 
her  number. 

"Line's  busy,"  Central  answered. 

Falk  gasped.  She  had  then  instantly  called 
somebody  up!  Unless  the  remarkable  coinci- 
dence had  happened  that  she  herself — just  at 
this  instant — and  so  late  at  night — had  been  called 
up.  This  latter  theory  he  was  disinclined  to  be- 
lieve. 

Some  mioments  passed.  Falk  tried  again  to 
get  her  number.  But  Central  still  reported 
"busy."  She  was  certainly  having  a  long  conver- 
sation. Or  perhaps  she  was  constantly  ringing  a 
number  up  trying  to  get  connections. 

"And  why?" 

Falk  was  not  in  doubt  about  that.  It  was  his 
questioning  about  Nielsen  that  had  frightened  her. 
His  standing  probably  wasn't  in,  the  best  order 
either.  His  friends  were  bad,  and  his  "trade" 
was  no  doubt  worse.  He  was  probably  both  a 
crook  and  an  "Alfonsf"  which  did  not  coincide 
with  the  description  that  Falk  had  received  in  the 
city  of  Elly  Hansen,  who  never  burdened  herself 
with  that  kind  of  connection.  On  the  other  hand, 
Miller's  description  of  him  was  not  to  be  mis- 
taken. Only  Falk  had  never  before  in  his  practice 
[119] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

encountered  Nielsen.  But  there  had  to  be  a  first 
time  both  for  him  and  the  printer.  Maybe  the 
police  knew  of  him! 

Falk  rang  up  headquarters.  The  officer  on  duty 
answered,  and  he)  gave  him  Nielsen's  description 
right  from  the  slouch  hat  to  the  yellow  front  teeth 
and  the  eye  glasses. 

"Look  and  see  if  you  have  him  up  there,"  said 
Falk,  "and  ring  me  up  at  my  home  in  a  couple  of 
hours — no,  I  won't  be  home  until  then." 

The  officer  promised  he  would.  Falk  hung  up. 
Now  he  saw  the  light  go  out  in  Elly  Hansen's  win- 
dow, and  was  about  to  leave  his  post  when  he  sud- 
denly had  an  idea  and  again  took  up  the  receiver. 
This  time  he  gave  a  new  number  and  quickly  got 
an  answer: 

A  sleepy  voice  boomed:    "Hello,  who  is  it?'1' 

"This  is  Falk,"  said  he:  "Just  now  I  am  in  a 
house  in  Isted  Street  on  the  odd  number  side.  Its 
a  pay  station  and  next  to  the  corner  of  Saxo  Street. 
Hurry  down  here,  Holm.  I  need  you  for  a  piece 
of  well  paid  night  work." 

"In  ten  minutes,"  promised  the  other,  "I'll  be 
there/' 

Falk  stood  in  the  doorway  and  waited.     It  was 
still  dark,  in  Elly  Hansen's  flat.     Heaven  only 
knows  why  she  had  denied  all  knowledge  of  Niel- 
[120] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

sen?  He  had  an  instinctive  feeling  that  he  was  at 
the  beginning  of  the  solution  of  the  riddle.  And 
yet  he  saw  clearly  the  utter  fantasy  of  connecting 
the  printer,  about  whom  he  knew  nothing,  with 
this  murder.  But  still — 

Now  and  then  a  policeman  passed  the  door 
where  Falk  stood.  Occasionally  a  roistering 
company  staggered  through  the  quiet  street  filling 
the  frosty  air  with  giggles  and  squeals. 

Then  Falk  heard  hurrying  footsteps  approach 
and  stop  outside  the  door,  a  short  undersized  man 
came  in,  lifting  a  bowler  hat.  It  was  Holm  for 
whom  Falk  had  telephoned. 

"Watch  that  house  over  there  until  tomorrow 
morning.  I  will  send  you  a  relief  then.  If  the 
person  I  am  interested  in  should  leave  the  house, 
follow  him  and  telephone  me  where  he  has  gone." 
And  Falk  described  Nielsen. 

"Don't  know  him,"  said  Holm.  "But  he  shan't 
get  away.  I  know  this  section  through  and 
through." 

Falk  gave  him  some  cigars. 

"They  make  the  hours  go  faster.  It's  cold  out 
and  you'll  have  to  Walk  up  and  down  all  night. 
I'd  stay  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  too. 
Good  night!" 

The    man    disappeared.     Shortly    after    Falk 
[121] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

stepped  out  and  hurried  over  to  and  down  Saxo 
Street.  It  was  pitch-dark  in  the  cobbler's  cellar  as 
he  passed  it.  The  street  was1  deserted. 

Falk  turned  down  Vesterbro  Street.  It  was  bit- 
terly cold.  He  stopped  outside  of  No.  12  and 
looked  up  at  Saabye's  windows.  Pitch-dark!  He 
took  out  some  keys  and  opened  the  street  door. 

He  turned  on  the  light  and  hurried  up  the  stairs. 
The  door  of  the  murdered  man's  apartment  was 
unlocked.  Things  were  being  made  as  easy  as 
possible  for  the  "eventual"  murderer,  if  he  was 
some  one  other  than  the  arrested  Einar  Lange. 
For  criminals  are  often  said  to  be  attracted  to  the 
scene  of  their  crime. 

Falk  smiled.  Now  and  then  he  was  a  little  mis- 
chievous. He  looked  at  the  unlocked  door  with- 
out opening  it  and  waited  until  the  light  below 
snapped  out.  He  waited  still  a  few  seconds 
and  then  carefully  took  hold  of  the  door  knob, 
turned  it,  and  stepped  stealthily  into  the  dark 
corridor. 

At  the  same  instant  the  light  from  a  police  flash- 
light hit  him  in  the  face.  He  cried  out  a 
merry  "Caught!"  and  turned  on  the  electric  light. 
The  policeman,  who  faced  him  and  whose  duty  it 
was,  to  guard  the  flat,  grumbled  disappointedly 
but  then  smiled  almost  instantly. 
[122] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"So  it  wasn't  the  murderer  this  time!  Well,  I 
guess  he's  up  behind  the  bars  all  right." 

"The  murderer  would  never  have  lit  the 
hall  light,"  Falk  instructed  him.  "The  real  mur- 
derer, that  is!" 

The  officer  closed  the  door  and  they  both  went 
into  Saabye's  study. 

"I'm  going  right  away/'  said  Falk.  "I  just 
wanted  to  see  what  time  it  is — by  the  dead  man's 
watch." 

The  officer  placed  the  watch  before  him.  Falk 
examined  it;  an  old  gold  watch  with  an  open  face. 
It  was  sixteen  minutes  of  twelve.  He  turned  it 
over  and  took  out  his  pocket  microscope.  It  was 
only  the  work  of  a  few  seconds. 

"Now,  I'm  sure  of  my  point,"  he  said  and 
handed  the  man  the  watch.  "I'll  just  use  your 
telephone  a  second." 

Falk  asked  for  the  police  headquarters,  and 
got  the  officer  on  duty: 

"Did  you  have  this  Nielsen?"  he  asked. 

The  answer  was  in  the  negative. 

"We  know  nothing  at  all  about  him." 

Falk  hung  up. 

"If  I  were  you,"  he  said  to  the  officer.  "I'd  lie 
down  and  take  a  nap.  "There'll  be  no  murderer 
here  tonight." 

[123.]. 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

The  policeman  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 
"How  do  you  know  that?" 
"From  the  watch  there,"  smiled  Falk.  "But  I'm 
going  home  to  sleep,  good  night." 

•  •••••• 

When  the  officer  was  alone,  he  curiously  picked 
up  the  watch  and  examined  it.  It  was  the  case 
that  Falk  had  been  most  interested  in.  The  man 
looked  at  it  for  a  long  time  but  finally  put  it  ir- 
ritably aside: 

"There  is  a  little  dent  in  the  middle  of  the  case. 
That's  all  I  can  see,  and,  Lord,  but  this  is  tire- 


some." 


The  official  hand  of  the  law  yawned  so  that  his 
very  jaws  creaked,  and  sat  down  to  wait  for  the 
coming  of  the  murderer,  whom  he  might  expect 
if  Lange  was  not  guilty.  But  he  was  firmly  con- 
vinced that  Lange  was. 


[124] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  cobbler  came  out  from  Nikola j sen's 
Cafe.  It  was  about  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  He  had  been  in  to  get  a 
couple  of  bracers.  They  warmed  one  up. 

Since  the  affair  of  the  ten  kroner  bill  the  night 
before  his  brain  had  been  in  constant  activity. 
And  the  result  of  his  cogitations  had  been  gain,  no 
matter  which  way  he  turned  it!  Whether  he 
squeezed  Nielsen  whom  he  never  could  stand,  and 
who  must  have  had  his  finger  in  the  Saabye  mur- 
der— or  whether  he  told  Falk  all,  and  made  money 
on  this,  and  got  Nielsen,  that  cheeky  scoundrel,  in 
trouble  and  made  things  hot  for  Elly  for  whom  he 
had  a  deep-rooted  hatred.  Stuck-up  and  mean 
Elly  had  always  been  towards  him — her  own  blood 
brother! 

Well,  things  were  in  great  shape  now! 

The  whiskey  had  in  the  meantime,  turned  him 
to  the  tenderer  feelings,  or  maybe  it  was  the  fear 
of  the  prison,  the  prison  that  his  lungs  could  not 
tolerate;  it  was  true  his  conscience  was  not  abso- 
lutely snow  white.  And  then  too  the  police, — that 
[125] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

bunch  of  fanners — they  were  so  brutal,  even  with 
a  pious  man. 

No,  the  best  way  to  settle  the  matter  was  by  am- 
icable adjustment.  Although  the  Lord  knew  that 
he  wished  for  a  chance  to  get  back  at  his  sister 
and  her  sweetheart. 

"Go  easy,  Thorvald  Hansen/'  he  impressed  on 
himself  time  after  time.  "That  pays  best,  too. 
And,  who  knows,  maybe,  there  will  be  a  chance  to 
pay  back — but  all  in  good  time." 

Well  satisfied,  he  turned  the  corner  of  Isted 
Street  and  saw  a  fashionably  clad  gentleman  dis- 
appear into  the  house  where  Elly  lived.  He 
waited  a  bit  and  stole  after  him. 

"The  devil!"  He  stood  irresolute  a  moment. 
Then  he  suddenly  saw  a  whole  new  opportunity  in 
the  stranger's  visit.  Just  to  get  rid  of  him,  her 
brother,  she  would  give  him  money.  Nielsen's 
turn  would  come,  too,  later  on.  And  he  would 
make  her  open  the  door  too.  He  would  simply 
use  the  danger  signal.  He  would  begin  by  ask- 
ing for  Nielsen  and  then  start  his  game. 

Yes,  that  was  the  way  to  do  it.  Now  that  he  had 
something  on  Nielsen,  he  would  be  high  and 
mighty  if  they  dared  treat  him  as  they  had  before. 

He  crept  up  the  stairs,  and  listened  outside  the 
door  for  a  few  seconds.   Nielsen  was  in  there.    He 
[126] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

heard  his  voice  as  she  opened  and  shut  the  door  for 
him.  Of  the  stranger  he  heard  nothing.  Had 
Elly  got  him  out  of  the  way?  Nielsen  was  so  ter- 
ribly jealous. 

The  cobbler's  heart  pounded.  Nielsen  was  a 
hard  nut  to  crack.  But  it  was  as  easy  to  jump  into 
it  as  to  creep.  He  rang.  Then  he  gave  the  danger 
signal.  Four  short  rings.  That  worked.  Some 
one  stirred.  Elly  opened  the  door  clad  in  a  Jap- 
anese kimono,  and  smoking  a  cigarette.  She  drew 
him  in  hurriedly. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  in  an  anxious  voice. 

"I  must  speak  with  Nielsen,"  said  her  brother. 

"Nielsen  isn't  here,^  she  answered  and  stood  in 
his  way  as  he  tried  to  get  in  the  room. 

"I  have  company,"  she  explained. 

He  was  perplexed  for  a  moment.  Why  did  she 
deny  that  Nielsen  was  there.  He  himself  had 
heard  him  speak  a  few  seconds  ago. 

"Tell  me  where  I  can  get  in  touch  with  him 
then,"  he  insisted.  "I've  something  very  impor- 
tant to  tell  him." 

The  cobbler  did  not  seem  to  be  aware  that  he 
had  forsaken  his  original  plan.  He  only  clung 
to  this  one;  to  talk  with  Nielsen.  He  barely  un- 
derstood his  own  tactics.  Perhaps  he  merely  fol- 
lowed them  because  he  saw  that  they  seemed  to  em- 
[127] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

barrass  Elly.     And  why  did  she  not  tell  him  to 
be  more  quiet  although  he  spoke  very  loudly? 

Suddenly  he  heard  Nielsen's  voice  from  within. 

"Let  him  come  in.  I'll  be  there  in  a  couple  of 
minutes."  And  he  heard  the  door  to  the  bedroom 
open  and  shut. 

Elly  showed  him  into  the  living  room. 

"You  mustn't  talk  so  loud,"  she  whispered. 
"The  stranger  is  in  there.  He  is  one  of  Niel- 
sen's acquaintances — of  his  prosperous  days,"  she 
added  as  she  saw  her  brother's  incredulous 
look. 

The  cobbler  sat  down.  The  twilight  deepened 
in  the  little  room  where  the  air  was  heavy  with 
cigarette  smoke.  A  leaping  and  blazing  fire 
burned  in  the  stove.  The  cobbler  sighed  in  in- 
voluntary contentment,  but  then  thought  of  the 
coming  tilt  with  Nielsen — and  of  the  peculiar 
stranger. 

In  the  room  here  he  had  been  cautioned  to  whis- 
per out  of  consideration  for  Nielsen.  "Acquain- 
tance— from  his  days  of  prosperity — hm!"  But 
out  in  the  corridor  he  had  been  able  to  shout  and 
yell  as  much  as  he  liked  without  his  sister  even  try- 
ing to  get  him  to  talk  in  a  lower  tone!  Who  could 
the  stranger  be? 

There  was  something  so  secretive  about  all  this. 
[128] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Besides  he  was — the  cobbler — sailing  under  a 
false  flag.  Nielsen  would  certainly  rave  when  he 
heard  this  proposition.  What  could  Nielsen  be 
doing?  He  asked  his  sister  about  it  in  a  whis- 
per. She  stood  by  the  door  to  the  bedroom  as  if 
to  make  sure  that  he  didn't  go  in. 

"It's  the  stranger,"  she  said.  "He's  seeing  him 
off." 

Shortly  afterwards  they  heard  some  one  go  out 
in  the  kitchen  and  open  the  door,  and  then  they 
heard  Nielsen's  voice: 

"Good-bye.     See  you  tonight  then." 

Then  steps  down  the  stairs,  and  the  slamming  of 
the  front  door. 

The  cobbler  stood  up.  His  knees  shook.  Just 
then  Nielsen  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  had 
on  his  dirty  suit  of  clothes  as  usual,  but  on  his  feet 
an  elegant  pair  of  shoes.  Thorvald  Hansen  no- 
ticed these  at  once  and  connected  them  immediately 
with  the  bloody  ten  kroner  note,  with  Saabye,  and 
with  a  sudden  prosperity,  with  a  "job"  from  which 
he — in  spite  of  golden  promises — had  been  ex- 
cluded. 

There  came  to  him  at  this  moment  sufficient  bit- 
terness for  the  attack. 

Nielsen's  eyes  gleamed  like  knives  behind  his 
glasses: 

[129] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked  and  remained 
standing  by  the  bedroom  door. 

"It's  something  very  important.  I  must  talk 
with  you — alone." 

Nielsen  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  opened 
the  door  to  the  bedroom. 

"Go  in  there  then,"'  he  said  to  Elly  who  obeyed 
at  once. 

The  cobbler  saw  how  untidy  it  was  in  there. 
The  door  of  the  clothes  closet  was  wide  open,  and 
a  heap  of  clothes  had  been  thrown  into  it  pell 
mell.  Elly  shut  the  closet  door  at  once  but  left 
the  door  to  the  living  room  ajar.  Nielsen  did  not 
notice  it,  and  the  cobbler  said  nothing.  If  Niel- 
sen proved  refractory  Elly  could  hear  it  all,  and 
then  she  would  be  sure  to  advise  him  to  give  in. 

"It's  about  this  matter  of  the  bill  yesterday  even- 
ing," began  Hansen.  "I've  been  thinking  it  over." 
Nielsen  nodded  in  ironical  comprehension. 

"And  now  you  have  come  to  the  holy  conclusion 
that  it  is  your  duty  as  a  citizen  and  a  religiously 
moved  soul  to  take  the  police  in  on  your  dis- 
covery." 

"Yes,"  nodded  the  cobbler  unsuspectingly. 
"Of  course,  I  wouldn't  say  that  it  was  you  I  got 
it  from.  Just  as  if  you  in  reward  for  all  your 
kindness — " 

[130] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

He  stopped  suddenly.  There  was  something 
about  the  other's  look  that  made  him  shudder  de- 
spite the  fact  that  he  merely  looked  at  him  and 
smiled. 

"You  still  think,  then,"  and  Nielsen  cut  right 
through  his  masked  threat,  "that  I  had  something  to 
do  with  that  dirty  affair?" 

"Of  course,  I  don't  think  it,"  said  the  cobbler  in 
a  low  voice.  "If  I  thought  that  I  would  never  go 
to  the  police  with  that  bill.  But  I'm  a  poor  man, 
I  have  hardly  enough  to  put  in  my  mouth." 

"The  police  won't  give  you  a  red  cent  for  your 
crazy  ideas." 

"No,  but  Falk!" 

There  was  a  pause. 

The  cobbler's  eyes  did  not  leave  the  other's  face. 
He  had  noticed  how  Nielsen  started  when  Falk's 
name  was  mentioned.  Now  he  was  figuring  out 
something  or  other.  But  the  cobbler  stuck  to  his 
post. 

"Have  you  the  bill?"  asked  Nielsen  suddenly. 

The  cobbler  smiled  warily. 

"Yes,  but  hidden  in  a  sure  place  with  a  few 
lines  attached  to  it  explaining  how  I  got  it.  In 
case,  you  see,  anything  should  happen  to  me." 

"It  is  quite  clear  to  you,  I  suppose,"  said  Niel- 
sen slowly,  "that  it  will  be  very  unpleasant  for  me 
[131] 


.      TWO  DEAD   MEN 

to  get  mixed  up  in  this  affair  so  much  more  be- 
cause it  will  harm  a  friend  who  once  did  me  a 
favour.  Whether  he  has  anything  to  do  with  the 
murder,  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea.  But  this  I 
do  know,  that  though  I'm  nearly  broke,  I  would 
offer  you  a  few  kroner  rather  than  risk —  What 
will  you  sell  it  for?" 

"Did  your  'friend'  present  you  with  those  shoes 
then?"  the  cobbler  interrupted.  "They  must  have 
cost  a  lot." 

"He  loaned  me  the  money  for  them  if  you  wish 
to  know,"  Nielsen  warded  off  impatiently: 

"How  much  do  you  want  for  the  note  then? 
Shall  we  say  15  kroner?" 

"They  got  away  with  4000  up  at  Saabye's," 
said  the  cobbler  calmly.  "I  will  sell  the  bill  for 
half." 

Nielsen  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"I  don't  feel  like  joking.  How  much  will  you 
sell  it  for?" 

"It's  no  joke.     I  want  2000  for  it." 

Nielsen  took  him  by  the  arm: 

"No  more  play  acting,"  he  sneered: 

"You  can  get  20— or  go  to  hell!" 

The  cobbler  tore  himself  away,  and  backed  to- 
wards the  bedroom  door: 

"Twenty  kroner!  You'll  have  to  beat  that.  You 
[132] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

can  blow  a  little  more  on  a  guy  who  did  a  rich 
man  in.  Especially  when  he  is  one's  dear  friend! 
Or  near  relative.  For  is  it  possible  that  it  could 
be  your  father's  son:  Nielsen  the  printer?  Eh?" 

"You  shall  have  40  kroner,"  promised  Niel- 
sen. He  was  very  pale  and  could  hardly  control 
himself. 

The  cobbler  laughed  scornfully. 

"Forty  kroner!  I  want  2000!  Get  me? 
That's  cheap  enough  to  duck  a  life  sentence.  And 
when  you  give  me  the  money,  I  am  not  only  your 
friend  but  your  accomplice." 

The  bedroom  door  opened  slowly  and  there 
stood  Elly,  very  pale  and  trembling.  She  stared 
at  Nielsen. 

"What  is  it  he  is  saying  about  you?  What  is 
it?  Tell  me,  please.  You  are  no  murderer,  no? 
You  are  no  murderer?" 

Nielsen  calmed  her: 

"No,  of  course!  It  is  only  your  honourable 
brother,  drunk  as  usual." 

The  cobbler  grunted,  scornfully  superior. 

"But  the  bill  he  is  talking  about?"  asked  Elly 
quickly. 

"That's  one  he  got  somewhere  in  town,  I  don't 
know  where.'19 

"Lies!     Lies!"  mocked  the  cobbler. 
[133] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Nielsen  turned  on  him  with  lightning  swiftness. 

"If  you  don't  shut  up,  I'll—" 

"Murder  me,  too,  heh?"  grinned  the  other 
evilly.  "Take  care  of  your  hands  this  time,  and 
wash  them  carefully  so  that  there's  no  blood  under 
your  finger  nails." 

Nielsen  swayed,  white  with  passion: 

"He's  lying!     It's  a  lie!" 

Elly  stepped  over  to  her  brother. 

"When  was  he  killed,  this  one  you're  talking 
about?" 

"The  night  before  last  between  half  past  eleven 
and  twelve,"  he  triumphed. 

Elly  started  but  controlled  herself  and  said: 

"Nielsen  was  here  a  little  before  nine  and  all 
night." 

"You  didn't  remember  right  then  yesterday 
afternoon,"  grinned  the  cobbler.  "Then  you  told 
me  that  you  hadn't  seen  Nielsen  since  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday." 

"No,  I  remembered  right  enough  but  it  wasn't 
any  of  your  business  where  he  was." 

The  printer  had  become  somewhat  calmer. 

But  his  hand  trembled  as  he  lit  a  cigarette: 

"Now,  you  think  that  over  until  tonight,"  he  said 
to  the  cobbler.  "I  am  going  out  to  Enghavevej  to 
a  meeting.  At  12  o'clock,  I'll  be  at  the  corner  of 
[134] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Vesterbro  Street.  Then  you  can  get  40  kroner  for 
the  bill,  unless,  of  course  you  prefer  to  tell  tales 
out  of  school  about  it.  And  now,  get  out!" 

The  cobbler  did  not  move  from  the  spot. 

"Didnft  you  hear  me?"  growled  Nielsen. 

"Yes,  but  I'm  waiting  for  you  to  come  to  your 


senses." 


Nielsen  reflected  an  instant,  seemingly  weighing 
it  pro  and  con. 

"You'll  get  40  tonight,"  he  said,  "and  60  in 
the  course  of  the  month." 

The  cobbler  shook  his  head. 

"Going  up,  I  see — 40  and  60  make  100.  But 
half  of  4000  is  2000." 

"Get  out  of  here,"  snarled  the  printer. 

"I'm  going  when  I  feel  like  it,"  said  the  cob- 
bler with  a  superior  air, — "besides  they'll  get  you 
soon  enough — " 

Nielsen  turned  on  him  like  a  sudden  thunder- 
storm: 

"You  damned  hound!!" 

His  fingers  closed  viselike  about  the  cobbler's 
neck.  The  latter  was  about  to  choke  when  Niel- 
sen threw  him  to  the  floor,  pounding  his  head  on  it. 

"You  hound!  You  hound!"  he  snarled  and 
kept  his  hold  on  the  other's  neck. 

There  was  a  rattling  in  the  cobbler's  throat. 
[135] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

The  blood  swam  before  his  eyes,  and  sparks 
leaped  before  them.  With  a  last  despairing  effort, 
he  tore  himself  away,  and  bit  at  the  other's  hand 
but  failed  to  reach  it. 

Nielsen  did  not  notice  it.  He  stood  and  wiped 
his  sweaty  forehead.  There  was  an  expression 
of  deep  disgust  on  his  face. 

Elly  had  put  her  arms  around  his  neck.  She  ca- 
ressed him  as  one  would  caress  a  wronged  child. 
Her  eyes  became  black  with  disgust  and  rage  as 
they  rested  on  the  cobbler. 

"You  beast,"  she  sneered,  "and  such  a  cur  is 
one's  own  brother!" 

The  cobbler  was  at  the  door  in  one  leap,  tore 
it  open  and  ran  out  into  the  hall. 

"I'll  get  even  with  you  for  this!"  he  cried,  quite 
beside  himself,  and  slammed  the  door  and  sham- 
bled down  the  stairs. 

The  slam  of  the  door  seemed  to  wake  Nielsen. 

"I  must  change  my  things,"  he  said  and  gripped 
the  knob  of  the  bedroom  door.  "This  calls  for 
quick  action." 

"You  did  it  then?'"  Elly  whispered  hoarsely. 

He  nodded. 

"You  are  the  murderer  then?"  It  was  as  if 
she  froze  as  she  said  it. 

He  nodded  again. 

[136] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

She  suddenly  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  kissed  him  hungrily. 

"I  love  you,"  she  moaned.  "Nothing  in  the 
world  shall  come  between  us — murderer!" 

He  tore  himself  violently  away  and  pressed  his 
handkerchief  to  his  lips.  She  had  bit  him.  A 
thin  stream  of  blood  ran  down  his  chin. 

She  stood  devouring  him  with  her  eyes.  Her 
nostrils  quivered.  Her  breast  heaved.  Her  eyes 
shone  behind  her  tears.  She  had  an  animal-like 
beauty  in  that  moment.  And  he  saw  it,  but  still 
he  turned  away  with  a  frown  and  said: 

"Haven't  I  once  and  for  all  told  you  to  cut  out 
that  kind  of  nonsense.  It  is  that  kind  of  foolish- 
ness that — " 

The  telephone  rang. 

They  stood  very  still  and  stared  at  it  as  if  it 
was  a  door  about  to  open  for  some  horror;  a 
mouth  that  was  about  to  utter  a  message  of  mis- 
fortune. 

The  fire  crackled  loudly  in  the  stove.  A  roar 
came  up  from  the  street  as  a  trolley  car  passed. 
Some  one  came  up  the  stairs,  and  let  himself  in 
somewhere.  A  door  slammed  behind  him.  Sev- 
eral seconds  of  silence  went  by. 

The  telephone  rang  again.  More  loudly.  De- 
manding an  answer. 

[137] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

"Answer  it,"  he  said  to  her,  "but  let  me  hear 
who  is  speaking  before  you  ring  off.  One  can 
never  know — " 

She  picked  up  the  receiver.  Her  hand  shook. 
It  could  be  an  absolutely  commonplace  call  but 
both  were  convinced  that  it  was  the  contrary. 

"Hello,"  she  said. 

"Is  this  Miss  Elly  Hansen's?'"  some  one  asked. 
She  seemed  to  know  the  voice.  "I  should  like  to 
speak  with  Nielsen." 

She  gave  him  the  receiver  hurriedly.  The 
question  was  repeated. 

"Say  he  is  out  travelling  and  won't  be  back  un- 
til tomorrow  morning,"  whispered  Nielsen  to  her 
and  gave  her  the  receiver. 

The  person  thanked  her  for  the  information. 
She  hung  up. 

"It  was  he  who  called  me  up  last  night,"  she 
said  nervously. 

Nielsen  frowned. 

"What  the  devil  could  he  want  me  for?"  he 
mumbled  to  himself. 

"Did  you  know  his  voice?"  she  asked  fright- 
ened at  his  expression. 

"Yes,  it  was  Arne  Falk." 


[138] 


CHAPTER  VII 

FALK  sat  with  the  receiver  to  his  ear.  He 
was  talking  with  Holm,  one  of  the  de- 
tectives who  had  watched  Elly  Hansen's 
house  during  the  night. 

"And  you  are  sure  that  this  Nielsen  has  not  left 
the  house?" 

"Yes,  absolutely  sure!" 

"And  the  man  who  relieved  you?" 

"He's  with  me  now  in  the  pay  station  right 
across  from  the  house.  He  relieved  me  about  9 
o'clock  this  morning.  He  hasn't  seen  the  printer 
either." 

"Keep  on  watching,"  ordered  Falk,  "and  fol- 
low the  instructions  I  have  given  you." 

He  hung  up  and  turned  to  his  secretary,  former 
chief  clerk  Johannes  Willing,  who,  stiff  as  a  ram- 
rod, and  conservative  as  an  old  family  servant  in 
a  novel,  was  typing  the  thesis  for  a  doctor's  de- 
gree on  which  Falk  had  been  working  for  the  past 
year — a  work  on  criminology  and  medicine. 

"Put  that  rot  aside,"  Falk  shocked  the  middle- 
aged  gentleman  by  proposing.  "What  does 
[139] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Goethe  say,  that  old  aristocrat,  about  theory  and 
practice.  When  one  has  a  red-hot  case  to  play 
with,  a  doctor's  thesis  is  dead  and  of  no  account. 
That  is  to  say,  comparatively.  Besides,  no  one 
escapes  his  fate  in  this  country.  If  you  will  hand 
the  faculty  a  nice,  thick  book,  you  become  a  doc- 
tor. It  doesn't  matter  much  what's  in  the  book." 

Willing  nodded  without  clearly  understanding. 
He  always  nodded  when  Falk  began  his  paradoxes. 
It  was  no  use  to  argue  with  crazy  people.  What 
was  the  use? 

Willing  waited  expectantly.  Since  the  famous 
Borck  murder  affair,  he  had  almost  lived  in  a 
fools'  paradise  with  Falk,  for  the  latter's  time  had 
wholly  been  taken  up  by  research  work,  and  the 
like.  But  now  it  was  all  over. 

Why  couldn't  people  stop  killing  each  other — 
and  especially  in  such  a  cunning  way  that  even 
the  police  found  it  impossible  to  discover  who  the 
murderer  was?  He  sighed  discreetly. 

Falk  began  to  sum  up  the  case: 

"A  murder  is  committed,  the  motive  apparently 
as  clear  as  day.  A  young  man,  hitherto  unbe- 
smirched,  is  suspected  of  it,  and  arrested.  An  ex- 
convict  has  what  is  in  his  circle  a  great  rarity, 
namely  a  friend  who  as  yet  has  not  graced  the 
rogues'  gallery.  Last  night  I  saw  this  friend — 
[140] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Nielsen  the  printer — go  up  to  a  girl's  flat.  A  girl 
who  stands  in  a  certain  relation  to  the  murder  al- 
though not  a  criminal  one.  With  the  aid  of  my 
own  and  my  two  agents'  eyes,  I  substantiated  that 
the  man  was  and  still  is  today  in  the  flat  with  the 
fair  accomplice — do  you  follow  me,  Willing?" 

The  secretary  nodded  with  hypocritical  interest. 
He  knew  that  Falk  appreciated  a  good  listener. 

"But  now  a  remarkable  thing  occurred,"  con- 
tinued Falk.  "Nielsen  the  night  before  last  had 
gone  up  to  the  girl,  Elly  Hansen.  Barely  half 
an  hour  after  I  ring  her  up,  and  ask  her  if  I  can 
find  Nielsen  there. 

"The  lady  becomes  frightened,  denies  any 
knowledge  of  the  printer — who,  according  to  Mil- 
ler, is  her  daily  visitor,  and  hastily  rings  off.  As 
I  see  that  the  light  in  the  room  where  the  telephone 
is,  is  not  extinguished  I  ring  her  up  again  a  half 
minute  later,  and  Central  tells  me  the  line  is  busy. 

"Wherefrom  I  conclude  that  immediately  after 
my  telephoning,  she  has  called  some  other  number 
and  told  the  person  of  my  query  and  asked  him  or 
her  for  advice.  But  whom  has  she  called  up  who 
has  her  confidence  to  such  degree  that  she  can 
ask  his  advice  in  such  a  delicate  matter  as  that  of 
Nielsen's — who? 

"Well,  it's  no  use  falling  into  a  trance  about 
[141] 


TWO    DEAD   MEN 

this  riddle.  Let's  rather  move  forward  to  the  next 
one.  About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  I  telephone 
the  girl  again.  This  time  she  doesn't  deny  know- 
ing the  man,  but  tries  to  pull  the  wool  over  my 
eyes  by  saying  he  is  travelling,  which  is  absolutely 
impossible.  The  eyes  of  my  agents  are  sharp 
enough. 

"She  has  probably  been  instructed  to  say  that," 
ventured  Willing. 

"Yes,  by  Nielsen  himself,"  nodded  Falk. 
"You  see,  he  must  remain  inside  the  house.  I, 
too,  have  my  special  reasons  for  wanting  him  to 
remain  there  for  the  present." 

The  front  door  bell  rang. 

"It  is  Preben  Miller,"  said  Falk. 

And  it  really  was  the  author.  Falk  heard  his 
taxi  drive  away  below. 

"We  are  discussing  your  unholy  flame,  Miss 
Elly  Hansen.  Yes,  and  her  printer — does  she 
love  him,  do  you  think?" 

"Yes,  in  her  way,"  shrugged  Miller,  "more's 
the  pity." 

"But  still  she  is  deceiving  him  about  you?" 

"Yes,  luckily." 

Willing  moved  in  an  embarrassed  way. 

"Perhaps  I— <" 

"Oh,  go  ahead,"  smiled  Falk. 
[142] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Was  he  scandalized?"  asked  Miller  as  the  sec- 
retary disappeared. 

"Can  you,  a  psychologist,  ask  such  a  question?" 
laughed  Falk.  "Well,  she  loves  the  two  of  you 
then?" 

"Yes,  and  I  support  both  her  and  my  rival. 
It's  expensive  but  interesting." 

"Did  you  see  her  today?" 

"Yes,  I  took  a  little  run  up  there.  But  Nielsen 
was  there  too,  so  I  preferred  to  withdraw." 

"Perhaps  you  have  just  come  from  there  then?" 

"Yes,  just  about.  A  taxi  went  by  as  I  came  out 
on  Vesterbro  Street,  and  I  hailed  it  and  drove  up 
here." 

"About  what  time  was  it  when  you  left  there?" 

"I  can  tell  you  almost  to  the  minute,"  said 
Miller  and  looked  at  his  watch.  "It  is  eight  min- 
utes to  four  now.  It  was  precisely  three  fifteen — 
for  the  court  house  clock  struck  the  quarter  hour 
when  I  left  the  house." 

"Did  you  notice  anything  peculiar  about  your 
rival  today?" 

"No,  only  he  was  like  an  irritated  terrier,  as  he 
always  is  when  he  has  the  honour  of  seeing  me. 
And  it  did  not  put  him  in  any  better  humour  when 
I  told  him  sweetly  to  keep  his  dirty  fingers  away 
from  my  cigarettes.  Of  course,  he  swore  by  half 
[143] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

a  dozen  various  places  that  he  had  never  touched 
my  'stinking  hay.'  I  don't  know  what  he 
means  by  calling  my  Sunka  cigarettes  'stinking 
hay.'  " 

"Well,  unfortunately  I  also  have  the  same  ple- 
beian opinion,"  smiled  Falk.  "You  didn't  come 
to  blows?" 

"No,  he  crawled  in  his  shell  again  and  even 
opened  the  door  for  me  when  I  went  out.  Tout 
comme  il  faut!" 

"Did  he  say  he  was  going  away?  Or  tell  Miss 
Elly  anything  about  it?" 

"No.  But  that  means  nothing.  Even  if  he 
were  going  to  the  very  ends  of  the  earth,  he  would 
try  to  keep  it  from  me  as  long  as  he  could.  The 
dear  fellow  is  so  jealous! — But  I  can  telephone 
her  and  ask.  That  will  be  the  best  way — ." 

"Apropos  telephoning,"  said  Falk  stopping  him 
on  his  way  to  the  telephone.  "Didn't  somebody 
call  he'r  up  while  you  were  there?" 

Miller  shook  his  head  in  denial. 

"No,  that's  so  too,"  remembered  Falk.  "It  was 
later  I  called  up." 

Miller  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  receiver  and 
was  about  to  pick  it  up  when  the  front  door  bell 
tinkled.  He  drew  his  hand  away. 

"Some  one  is  ringing." 
[144] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Shh!"  whispered  Falk. 

They  both  listened. 

"What  a  pull  he  has,"  said  Falk  shortly  after, 
"and  humble!  As  nauseating  as  a  milk  toddy." 

The  house-keeper  knocked  on  the  door  and 
opened: 

"There's  a  man  who  wants  to  speak  with  you." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"He  said  just  to  say  'the  cobbler':  that  you 
would  know  who  it  was." 

"Show  him  in." 

The  house-keeper  went  out. 

"It's  your  brother-in-law,"  said  Falk  jocosely. 

"What!" 

"Yes,  Elly  Hansen's  brother.  A  fearful  ban- 
dit. I  don't  know  whether  you  care  to  be  pre- 
sented to  him." 

"No,  God  save  me!  I'll  go  in  the  living  room 
in  the  meantime."  Miller  hurried  in  and  quietly 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

The  cobbler  was  ushered  in  by  Mrs.  Jorgensen 
who  was  not  visibly  impressed  by  him.  At  any 
rate  the  closing  of  the  door  amounted  to  a  slam. 

The  cobbler  literally  oozed  hypocrisy.  He 
bowed  humbly. 

"What  do  you  want?"  asked  Falk  ungraciously. 

"I  only  want  to  ask  you  something." 
[145] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"And  what?" 

"How  a  poor  fellow,  who  has  a  trifle  on  his  con- 
science and  a  few  years  on  his  record,  would  stand 
— if  he  can  put  the  police  on  the  track  of  a  real 
criminal.  One  of  that  crowd  who  murder  people, 
and  steal  thousands  of  kroner  besides." 

"You'll  have  to  ask  the  police  about  that,"  said 
fFalk  shortly. 

"I  thought,"  sighed  the  cobbler  with  feigned 
despondency  as  he  looked  around  the  room  and 
[lowered  his  eyes,  "that  your  word,  Mr.  Falk,  had 
some  weight  with  them,  and  that  you  were  not 
afraid  to  help  a  poor  devil.  That  is  to  say  if  it's 
a  case  that  interests  you." 

"There  is  only  one  case  that  I  am  interested  in 
just  now,"  said  Falk,  "and  I  hardly  think  you 
know  anything  about  that." 

Falk  did  not  dou»bt  for  an  instant  that  he  did. 
But  he  had  his  own  methods  in  a  case  like 
this.  A  certain  scepticism  and  indifference  always 
egged  the  other  on  to  open  disclosures.  Nor  were 
these  withheld  here. 

"Now,  maybe  I  may  have  heard  something  or 
other  about  that  case,"  ventured  the  cobbler. 
"That  is,  the  Saabye  murder,  now  don't  you  think 
— I  mean,  it's  hard  when  one  wants  to  be  an  hon- 
est man,  to  have  this  for  a  start!" 
[146] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"If  you  can  tell  me  some  facts  about  the  case, 
I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,"  promised  Falk. 

"You  misunderstand  me  a  little,"  said  the  cob- 
bler humbly.  "It's  not  me,  but  a  friend  whom  this 
concerns.  And  I  don't  think  he'll  agree  to  those 
conditions.  There  is  too  much  to  lose  and  too 
Ilittle  to  win." 

"In  other  words,  he  demands  protection?" 

"Yes,  and  some  money.  Otherwise  the  poor 
fellow  will  die  of  hunger." 

"And  what  will  he  give  in  return?" 

"He'll  tell  who  murdered  the  old  man,  and  stole 
all  the  money." 

Arne  Falk  started  violently. 

"But  the  money  was  burned,"  he  ventured. 

"The  devil  they — that  is,  I  guess,  I  guess  so," 
added  the  cobbler  hastily. 

"I  can  offer  your  'friend'  50  kroner,"  said  Falk 
and  took  out  his  wallet,  "and  protection." 

The  shoemaker  writhed  humbly. 

"It's  impossible  for  less  than  100  kroner.  He 
owes  a  frightful  lot  of  money." 

"All  right,  I'll  give  you  100,"  said  Falk  after 
some  delay  and  handed  him  the  money.  "Who  is 
the  murderer  then?" 

The  cobbler  took  out  the  crumpled,  blood-stained 
note  of  the  night  before  and  showed  it  to  Falk. 
[147] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"It  is  the  man  who  gave  me  this,"  he  whis- 
pered, and  looked  up  warily.  He  had  heard 
some  one  stir  in  the  next  room. 

"He  gave  me  this  last  night.  And  today  he 
promised  me  40  kroner,  and  turned  white  as  chalk 
when  I  talked  about  the  murder." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Falk. 

"His  name  is  Nielsen,  and  he  is  a  printer  out  of 
work. 

"He's  the  one  you  saw  at  my  place  last  night. 
He's  my  sister's  sweetheart,  and  she  admitted  to 
me  herself  that  he  was  not  with  her  at  the  time 
the  murder  was  committed.  But  today,  she  de- 
nied having  said  it." 

"Why  did  he  give  you  money?"  asked  Falk. 

"Why,  that's  some  he  owed  me,"  lied  the  cob- 
bler brazenly.  He  hated  unnecessary  unveiling. 

"But  this  note  is  really  no  proof,"  protested 
Falk. 

"Yes,  it  is,  together  with  something  else,  if 
you'll  allow  me,"  answered  the  other  and  de- 
scribed the  events  which  had  taken  place  in  his 
sister's  flat. 

"Then,  it's  best  to  get  hold  of  him  at  once," 
resolved  Falk.  "He  is  at  your  sister's  all  the 
time,  isn't  he?" 

The  cobbler  was  about  to  say  yes  when  he  sud- 
[148] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

denly  remembered  Nielsen's  offer  about  the  rest  of 
the  money  he  was  to  get  that  evening.  What  if  he 
could  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  and  keep  the 
police  away  from  Nielsen  until  he  had  the  100 
kroner. 

"No,  he's  not  there  just  now,"  and  he  shook  his 
head,  "and  won't  be  there  today  either." 

"He  is  travelling,  perhaps?" 

"Yes,  he's  travelling.  I  don't  know  where,  but 
he'll  be  back  tomorrow  morning." 

"When  were  you  up  there,  and  saw  him  last?" 

"About  ten  minutes  after  three.  I  noticed  the 
time  on  the  clock  across  the  street." 

This  fitted  exactly  with  Miller's  statement  of 
having  been  at  the  street  door  at  a  quarter  after 
three.  At  least  the  cobbler  had  the  time  at  his 
finger  tips! 

"Did  you  meet  any  one  up  there?"  asked  Falk. 

"No  one  but  the  printer  and  Elly.  But  there 
was  a  stranger  there  whom  Nielsen  showed  out 
while  I  sat  and  waited." 

"Oh,  you  saw  him  then?" 

"No,  because  he  went  down  the  kitchen  stairs." 

"Why  in  the  world  did  he  leave  that  way?" 

The  cobbler  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  don't  know." 

"When  did  Nielsen  go  away  then?" 
[149] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I  saw  him  leave  the  house  a  few  minutes  after 
I  had  gone.  It  must  have  been  about  half  past 
three  then." 

Falk  took  some  notes  now  and  then.  He  was  ut- 
terly at  sea  regarding  this  trip  of  Nielsen's.  Niel- 
sen could  not  have  slipped  out  without  his  agent 
knowing  of  it.  There  must  have  been  a  mistake 
somewhere. 

"Are  you  absolutely  certain  that  it  was  Niel- 
sen?" 

"Yes,  of  course!  I  know  him  as  well  as  I  know 
myself." 

As  a  cautious  move,  Falk  had  had  the  telephone 
moved  to  his  bedroom. 

"Pardon  me  a  moment,"  he  said  to  the  cobbler 
who  regarded  him  with  barely  concealed  sus- 
picion. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid  I'll  follow  in  your 
footsteps." 

Falk  disappeared  into  the  bedroom.  The  cob- 
bler sat  perfectly  quiet,  with  his  ears  strained  like 
a  tightly  stretched  drum.  His  glance  darted 
around  the  room  seeking  to  discover  a  possible 
danger  that  might  be  concealed  somewhere. 

A  few  minutes  after,  Falk  came  back  into  the 
study.  He  read  his  notes  to  the  cobbler,  and  let 
[150] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

him  verify  them.     An  unnecessary  measure,   it 
would  seem,  for  a  man  of  his  perceptive  abilities. 

"You'll  have  to  be  on  your  toes  early  tomorrow, 
too,"  said  Falk  to  him,  "and  ring  me  up  as  soon 
as  he  comes  home.  Don't  oversleep  now — and  if 
you  cheat  me — " 

The  cobbler  swore  a  frightful  oath  as  to  his 
honest  intentions.  Falk  showed  him  out  himself 
— out  of  consideration  for  Mrs.  Jorgensen. 

When  he  came  back  into  his  room,  Miller  sat  in 
the  chair  by  the  writing  desk,  smoking  his  indis- 
pensable "Sunka." 

"Well,  what  did  my  'brother-in-law'  have  to 
say?"  he  asked  smilingly. 

"He  told  me  something  about  our  mutual  friend 
the  printer —  By  the  way,  does  Lange  know  him?" 

"I  don't  believe  so.  I  think  Nielsen  made 
his  debut  into  Elly's  life  after  the  break  with 
Lange. —  Didn't  you  leave  the  room  here  a  few 
minutes?  I  thought  I  heard  the  door  open  and 
close." 

"Yes,  I  was  in  the  bedroom  to  telephone  to 
Holm  to  shadow  the  cobbler.  Afterwards,  I  de- 
tained the  fellow  a  bit  so  as  to  give  Holm  time  to 
get  up  here." 

Miller  whistled  comprehensively. 
[151] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"What  did  he  have  to  say  about  my  friend  the 
printer  anyway?" 

Falk  told  him: 

"And  he  also  insisted  that  Nielsen  was  away 
on  a  trip  today." 

"Well,  we  can  ring  Elly  up  and  find  out  for 
sure  if  it  will  interest  you.  Poor  girl,  this  must 
be  an  uncomfortable  afternoon  for  her." 

"I  would  like  to  get  her  out  of  the  place,"  ad- 
mitted Falk,  "in  order  to  have  the  flat  searched." 

"I'll  try  it,"  granted  Miller,  and  asked  for  her 
number.  "Although  it's  a  kind  of  treason  to  her 
and — hello,"  he  cut  short  his  moral  scruples:  "Is 
this  Elly?  This  is  Preben  speaking.  Is  Nielsen 
there?  Oh,  he's  gone,  has  he?  Well,  that's  fine 
— Shall  we  go  out  together  this  evening?  Well, 
then  just  as  you  say — I'll  be  home  in  the  course 
of  a  half  hour — then  I'll  expect  you — au  revoir." 

He  rang  off. 

"Poor  girl!"  he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "I 
could  hear  that  she  was  quite  beside  herself.  But 
I  must  be  getting  along.  Good-bye." 

Falk  retained  his  hand  in  his: 

"Does  this  woman  really  mean  anything  to 
you?" 

Miller  gave  a  shrug. 

[152] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"There  are  some  people,"  he  dogmatized,  "who 
live  by  virtue  of  their  shortcomings.  I  think  that 
I  am  one  of  them." 

"Because  it  is  not  yet  altogether  clear  that  she 
is  not  implicated  in  Nielsen's  affairs." 

"She  knows  nothing  whatsoever  about  them,"  he 
assured  the  other.  "And  as  for  me — don't  worry. 
If  the  worst  should  happen,  and  she  should  get 
into  trouble,  and  she  really  means  something  to 
me,  I  have  a  revolver  home  in  my  writing  desk! 
A  life  of  sorrow  is  not  worth  the  living.  Even 
happiness  is  not  perfect." 

Just  then  the  telephone  rang. 

"I'll  go  out  by  myself,"  said  Miller.  "You  an- 
swer  it." 

Falk  nodded  shortly,  and  picked  up  the  receiver. 

It  was  his  agent,  Holm,  calling: 

"Elly  Hansen  has  just  left  the  house,"  he  re- 
ported. 

"But  Nielsen  hasn't  shown  up  yet?" 

Falk  heard  Miller  slam  the  outside  door. 

"Is  there  a  Yale  lock  on  the  door  to  the  flat?" 

"No,  an  ordinary  lock." 

"Well,  you  just  let  yourself  into  the  place,  and 
find  out  if  the  printer  is  there.     They  say,  how- 
ever, that  he  left  half  an  hour  ago." 
[153] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"That  is  simply  impossible.  We  have  watched 
so  carefully  that  he  couldn't  possibly  have  slipped 
out  unnoticed." 

"Do  you  think  that  the  lady  has  had  any  visitors 
today?" 

"Yes,  your  friend,  Mr.  Preben  Miller  went  up 
there  about  three  o'clock,  but  only  stayed  there 
about  half  an  hour." 

"A  quarter  of  an  hour,"  corrected  Falk. 

"No,  it  was  precisely  half  past  four  when  he 
came  out  of  the  door  for  I  noticed  the  time  by  the 
clock  at  the  coffee  dealer's  here.  And  the  court 
house  clock  struck  the  half  hour  also." 

'1A11  right,  first  see  to  it  that  the  place  is 
searched.  If  you  find  the  printer  there,  you  don't 
have  to  worry  about  his  calling  for  the  police. 
But  be  careful  anyway.  Ring  the  bell  first — four 
short  rings." 

"All  right,  we  will  do  that." 

"By  the  way,  was  Elly  Hansen  carrying  any- 
thing?" 

"Yes,  she  had  a  small  satchel  with  her." 

"Hm,  all  right." 

Falk  rang  off,  and  lit  a  cigar.     He  heard  Will- 
ing moving  around  in  his  room  upstairs — Mrs. 
Jorgensen  throwing  coal  in  the  stove  in  the  living 
room — the  storm  howling  outside. 
[154] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Falk  tried  to  go  over  the  whole  case — detail  by 
detail — but  improbabilities  cropped  up  one  after 
another. 

How  had  Nielsen  gotten  into  Saabye's  house 
that  night?  Where  did  he  learn  about  the  com- 
bination to  the  safe?  And,  lastly,  how  had  he, 
who,  to  all  appearances,  was  an  amateur  in  the 
criminal  game,  managed  to  operate  so  tracklessly, 
so  soundlessly,  and  create  this  net  of  evidence 
which  was  closing  in  on  Einar  Lange. 

Unless  he  had — and  everything  led  away  from 
that — been  an  accomplice  of  the  young  artist,  who 
in  any  case  had  not  killed  Saabye.  Or  of  any 
person  who  had  a  close  knowledge  of  the  dead 
man's  habits  and  rooms.  The  last  was,  when  all 
was  said  and  done,  the  most  plausible.  But  the 
same  person  must  also  have  known  of  the  rela- 
tions existing  between  Saabye  and  his  foster-son. 
Had  known  that  the  latter  was  to  stay  there  that 
night,  that  the  money  for  the  rent  had  not  been 
brought  to  the  bank,  that  Lange  slept  very  heavily, 
etc.,  etc. 

The  only  one  who  knew  all  this,  and  whose  pres- 
ence in  the  house  at  the  time  of  the  murder  had 
been  proved  was  the  arrested  Einar  Lange — and 
the  house-keeper! 

Falk  did  not  continue  his  deductions.  The  idea 
[155] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

of  the  house-keeper  as  the  murderer  or  the  mur- 
derer's accomplice  was  and  remained  ridiculous! 
And  she  was — theoretically — the  only  one,  upon 
whom  any  suspicion  could  fall.  She  and  Lange! 

Perhaps  the  printer,  Nielsen,  was  the  murderer? 
Falk  had  no  other  proof  of  it  than  the  bloody  10 
kroner  note,  which  could  have  become  bloody  in 
many  other  quite  different  ways — Thorvald  Han- 
sen  was  no  marked  disciple  of  the  truth. 

And  it  was  queer  about  that  hour  that  both  Mil- 
ler and  the  cobbler  put  at  a  quarter  past  three  but 
which  Holm  and  his  aides  had  declared  to  be  half 
past  three.  For  Miller  must  have  known  when  he 
left  Elly  Hansen,  particularly,  as  he  had  looked 
at  the  clock  across  the  way. 

On  the  other  hand — oh,  well,  life  was  full  of 
mysteries!  Falk  smiled.  The  Lord  knew  what 
the  result  of  Holm's  "burglary"  would  be. 

The  thought  had  hardly  crossed  his  mind  when 
the  telephone  rang.  It  was  Holm.  He  was  up  in 
Elly's  flat  and  had  searched  it  from  end  to  end 
without  finding  anything  of  interest.  The  kitchen 
had  been  locked  on  the  inside  with  the  key  in  the 
lock  when  he  came  up  there: 

"Nielsen  was  not  there!" 

Holm's  colleague  had  at  the  same  time — and 
also  without  result — examined  the  kitchen  stairs 
[156] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

and  the  >court.  It  was  quite  incomprehensible, 
this  about  the  printer.  Particularly  as  he  had  to 
go  out  by  the  street  door,  and  because  he  was 
neither  well  known  nor  looked  up  to  by  the  neigh- 
bours, in  which  case  he  could  have  taken  refuge  in 
one  of  the  near-by  houses. 

"Stick  it  out  another  24  hours,"  said  Falk  en- 
couragingly to  the  somewhat  crestfallen  detective. 
"Let  your  partner  watch  the  house,  and  meanwhile 
find  out  what  you  can  about  Elly  Hansen.  Try 
especially  to  find  out  where  she  was  the  evening  be- 
fore last  between  9  and  12,  and  whether  any  one 
has  seen  Nielsen  in  that  space  of  time,  and  where. 
If  you  can  get  me  some  information  about  the 
lady's  life  and  habits,  do  that  also.  But  don't 
give  up." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Jorgensen  knocked  on  the  door, 
and  opened  it. 

"Dinner  is  ready,"  she  said. 

Falk  rang  off,  and  hurried  into  the  dining  room. 
He  was  ravenously  hungry.  Willing  was  already 
there,  waiting  for  him.  They  sat  down  in  silence. 
Falk  did  not  reply  to  Willing's  conventional  re- 
marks and  questions.  He  only  ate — and  pon- 
dered. 

At  last  it  was  too  much  for  the  secretary.     He 
had  spoken  to  Falk  without  any  answer: 
[157] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"You  are  extremely  pensive,  Mr.  Falk,"  he 
finally  said  a  bit  stiffly,  "would  it  be  impertinent  to 
inquire  why  you  are  so  preoccupied?" 

"Not  at  all,"  smiled  Falk,  as  if  suddenly  coming 
to.  "I'm  grappling  with  a  surface  wound,  a  nicked 
knife,  a  dent  in  a  watch,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  they  won't  come  right." 

Willing  asked  no  more  questions. 


[158] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  court  house  clock  struck  midnight,  and 
sang  its  deep,  metallic  psalm  over  the 
freezing,  snow-white  city.  The  houses 
cast  shadows  deep  and  dark  as  the  graves  of 
oblivion.  The  streets  seemed  to  be  only  strips  of 
frozen  snow — narrow  and  wide.  The  lamps 
burned  high  and  clear. 

A  broad-shouldered  patrolman  sauntered  back 
and  forth  before  a  Rathskeller  obliquely  across 
from  the  corner  of  Enghavevej  and  Vesterbro 
Street.  His  hands  were  clasped  behind  his 
back.  He  was  deep  in  thought,  and  now  and 
then  warmed  his  frozen  hands  in  a  resounding 
clap,  and  glanced  about  him  as  if  incidentally. 
The  street  car  going  towards  Valby  was  already 
down  near  the  "Black  Horse."  Few  people  were 
to  be  seen  on  Vesterbro  Street.  It  was  13  below 
zero,  and  people  stayed  indoors. 

The  officer  took  another  glance  about  him.     A 

man    came   walking   down    Enghavevej,   towards 

Vesterbro  Street,  huddled  up  in  an  old  ulster,  and 

with  a  slouch  hat  pulled  down  over  his  eyes.    He 

[159] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

seemed  to  be  shivering.  The  officer  was  also  very 
cold.  He  did  not  hesitate  very  long,  but  dashed 
up  to  the  door  by  the  side  of  the  cafe,  and  down 
into  the  cellar  where  the  kitchen  was.  The  door 
opened  hurriedly  to  his  knock. 

The  tall  man  in  the  ulster  had  stopped  on  the 
corner  of  Enghavevej.  He  was  evidently  waiting 
for  some  one.  He  started  violently  when  he  heard 
the  tinkling  noise  of  a  bell  at  the  cafe  door  only 
a  few  paces  from  him,  but  otherwise  did  not  stir. 

The  cobbler  came  shivering  out  on  the  street  to- 
wards him  but  stopped  with  an  oath  when  the  tall 
man  drew  his  attention  to  him  with  a  low  whistle. 

The  cobbler  stood  like  a  pointer  scenting  game, 
suddenly  stretched  out  his  arms,  and  drew  near 
the  man,  saying  with  an  assumed,  hearty  somewhat 
sniffling  manner: 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Nielsen?  I  didn't  know  you,  old 
pal." 

"I've  got  some  other  duds  on,"  smiled  Nielsen. 
"I  froze  to  dea'th  in  the  old  ones.  Let's  go  this 
way."  He  pointed  down  Enghavevej. 

The  cobbler  glanced  at  him  furtively.  He 
could  see  only  part  of  Nielsen's  face.  The  rest 
was  hidden  by  the  ulster  collar,  by  his  glasses, 
and  the  brim  of  his  hat. 

"Well,  you  got  my  letter  then,"  said  Nielsen. 
[160] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Yes,  sure  I  did.  Anyway,  we  agreed  to  meet 
here  at  12  o'clock." 

"I  only  meant — " 

"Oh,  that  little  tussle  we  had,"  smiled  the  cob- 
bler evilly.  "No,  a  thing  like  that  you  forget,  and 
besides  a  fellow's  got  a  heart  after  all  and 
wouldn't  destroy  a  pal  for  the  sake  of  a  few  cents." 

"Have  you  the  bill  on  you?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  the  cobbler  and  barely  hid 
a  cunning  smile.  He  did  not  notice  the  sinister 
gleam  in  the  other's  eyes. 

"All  right,"  nodded  Nielsen.  Now  and  then 
he  turned  as  if  listening  for  something. 

"Anybody  coming?"  asked  the  cobbler  who  no- 
ticed it. 

"No,  no, — no  one." 

They  turned  down  Mathaeus  Street. 

"We  had  better  go  down  to  your  place  and  set- 
tle the  matter,"  said  the  printer.  "I've  a  few 
drops  of  the  stuff  that  cheers  on  me.  For  it  is  a 
bit  cool." 

The  cobbler's  eyes  gleamed. 

"You're  a  fine  fellow,  Nielsen." 

"I  am  to  my  friends  as  they  are  to  me,"  said 
Nielsen,  and  added :  "The  old  man  ain't  in  there, 
is  he?" 

"No,  he's  up  in  his  room." 
[161] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

The  cobbler  opened  the  door  to  the  cellar,  and 
looked  up  at  Nielsen  who  stood  upon  the  street 
lighting  a  cigarette.  He  started  violently. 

"I'll  be  damned,"  he  swore  and  felt  a  sudden 
fear. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Nielsen  hurried  down  to 
him. 

The  cobbler  still  stood  staring  and  muttered: 

"That  was  the  second  time  tonight — " 

"What?" 

" — that  I  didn't  know  you." 

"Nonsense,"  grunted  Nielsen,  "get  that  door 
locked  and  let's  get  inside  and  have  something  to 
warm  us  up.  It's  colder  than  the  north  pole 
here!" 

The  cobbler  locked  it  while  Nielsen  lit  the  lamp 
in  the  back  room  and  seated  himself  on  the  bed. 

"By  the  way,  the  bottle's  in  my  overcoat 
pocket.  In  the  outer  one." 

The  cobbler  found  it  and  took  it  out.  Suddenly 
he  turned  fawningly  to  the  printer. 

"Why  so  silent,  old  man?"  he  said  but  became 
afraid  again. 

Nielsen  sat  over  there  in  the  shadow,  and  smiled 
in  such  a  sinister  way. 

"What  are  you  smiling  like  that  for?"  he  stam- 
mered, "and  why  are  you  wearing  gloves?" 
[162] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I'm  smiling,"  said  the  other,  "because  I'm  with 
a  friend,  a  real  friend.  For  you  are  that,  aren't 
you?" 

"Of  course,"  answered  the  cobbler,  taking  out  a 
couple  of  battered  cups  and  pouring  cognac  into 
them: 

"But  the  gloves?" 

"I'm  wearing  them  because  I'm  cold." 

The  cobbler  nodded  reassured,  and  handed 
Nielsen  one  of  the  cups:  "Your  health,  comrade!" 

Nielsen  returned  the  toast,  and  shivered  sud- 
denly: 

"It's  damn  cold  in  here,"  he  said  standing  up 
and  tucking  the  rug  in  front  of  the  court  window 
in  more  closely. 

"There's  a  draft  from  the  kitchen,  too,"  he 
grumbled,  and  went  out  there.  But  there  was 
nothing  to  do  there. 

"That  rug  helped  a  little,"  he  said  and  smiled 
his  sinister  smile.  "You've  got  a  good  start  al- 
ready, Hansen.  Most  people  can't  afford  that 
much  hootch." 

"Some  of  the  fellows  stood  treat,"  explained 
the  cobbler. 

"And  you  smell  like  a  night  bird,"  sniifed  the 
printer,  "but  maybe  'the  fellows'  are  from  a  per- 
fume factory —  It's  Swedish  Theresa's  perfume, 
[163] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

too,  I  think  you  told  me.     But  she  isn't  made  of 
money.     And  money — " 

The  cobbler  protested  in  a  confused  manner. 
Nielsen  smiled  steadily. 

"Well,  let's  get  down  to  business,"  he  said 
finally,  "and  don't  forget  the  booze." 

"The  lamp  is  smoking,"  said  the  cobbler  and 
turned  it  down. 

"Here  y'are,"  said  Nielsen,  and  took  out  the 
40  kroner  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

The  cobbler  gave  him  a  blood  stained  10  krone 
note.  Nielsen  put  it  indifferently  in  his  pocket 
without  looking  at  it. 

"But  we're  forgetting  the  bottle,"  he  laughed 
and  filled  the  cup.  The  cobbler  had  already  been 
somewhat  tipsy  when  he  came  out  of  the  cafe,  and 
now  he  drank  quickly.  Nielsen  tossed  the  empty 
bottle  over  on  the  bed: 

"There's  another  bottle  in  my  pocket,"  he  said. 
He  had  only  sipped  at  his  cup  now  and  then  while 
the  cobbler  was  becoming  more  and  more  drunk. 

"You're  a  fellow  after  my  own  heart,"  babbled 
the  cobbler,  "a  regular  guy." 

"Yes,  wasn't  it  lucky,"  smiled  Nielsen  "that  you 
didn't  snitch  on  me?" 

"Snitch — snitch!"     The  cobbler  faltered  a  lit- 
tle but  then  continued  virtuously  indignant: 
[164] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I  don't  snitch  on  my  friends,  by  God!" 

"But  if  you  were  not  my  friend?" 

"Then  I'd  get  in  trouble,  too,  myself,"  grunted 
the  cobbler  craftily. 

"Yes,  if  you  went  to  the  police!  But  if  this 
Falk— " 

The  cobbler  strove  to  look  unbelievably  stupid: 

"If  he  what?"  he  babbled. 

"If  he  had  offered  money,  and  had  promised 
you  protection  in  other  ways?" 

"Yes,  if?"  hiccoughed  the  cobbler.  "If  I  had 
done  anything  like  that  you  wouldn't  be  sitting 
here,  would  you?" 

"Oh,  you  could  have  told  some  fish  story  about 
not  being  able  to  get  a  hold  of  me  before  to- 


morrow." 


"And  what  good  would  that  do  me?"  asked  the 
other  and  held  the  cup  to  his  mouth  without  drink- 
ing. 

Nielsen  only  smiled. 

"What  good  would  it  do?"  mumbled  the  cob- 
bler both  angry  and  frightened.  "Answer  me,  in 
the  devil's  name!" 

Nielsen  winked  at  him  waggishly: 

"In  that  way,  you  could  get  money  both  from 
him  and  from  me." 

The  cobbler  laughed  scornfully. 
[165] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"You  don't  think  this  Falk  is  so  thick  as  that, 
to  let  me  keep  the  bill,  the  bloody  bill  which  is 
part  of  the  evidence." 

"No,  but  say  you  had  done  it  anyway." 

"But  hell,  you  got  it  from  me  only  a  few  min- 
utes ago." 

"Yes,  I  got  a  wrinkled  ten  kroner  note,  with  a 
blood  stain  on  it.  But  Lord  save  us,  such  a  note 
is  easy  to  stain.  Let  me  see  your  hands!" 

He  suddenly  seized  the  cobbler's  hands  so  the 
cup  fell  on  the  bed,  and  pulled  him  over  into  the 
light.  The  cobbler's  whole  body  shook.  His 
face  was  livid. 

There  was  an  insignificant  puncture  on  the  left 
hand! 

Nielsen  laughed  and  let  go  his  hand: 

"You  must  be  cold,  Hansen.  Help  yourself  to 
the  goods." 

He  handed  the  cobbler  the  flask.  The  latter 
put  it  to  his  mouth,  and  took  a  deep  draught. 

"I  pricked  myself  on  one  of  the  awls  this  after- 
noon," he  explained. 

"You  did,  eh?  Well,  it's  none  of  my  business," 
smiled  the  other.  "Of  course,  I  believe  you.  If 
I  didn't,  all  I  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  look 
at  the  number  on  the  bill.  For  I  remember  it 
well." 

[166] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

The  cobbler  took  another  drink  from  the  flask. 
Nielsen  had  again  seated  himself  on  the  bed. 

"No,  I'm  not  afraid  that  any  one  will  snitch  on 
me,"  he  said  with  a  low  laugh.  "It  would  only  be 
a  living  hell  for  whoever  did  it,  even  if  I  didn't 
kill  him  at  once." 

The  cobbler  sat  and  looked  at  him  sluggishly. 

"But  you're  not  drinking,"  protested  Nielsen 
smilingly,  and  handed  him  the  flask. 

The  cobbler  dropped  it.  He  was  swimmingly 
drunk,  but  fear  gnawed  at  his  vitals. 

He  couldn't  endure  the  other's  smile.  Sud- 
denly he  blazed  up  in  a  sudden  fit  of  rage: 

"What  the  hell  are  you  grinning  about?" 

Nielsen  stopped  smiling,  and  listened: 

"Shh!" 

The  cobbler  paused,  but  heard  nothing. 

"What  are  you  listening  for?"  he  asked  soon 
after,  and  seemed  about  to  collapse  from  drunken- 


ness. 
tc 


For  the  beating  of  Life's  pulse,"  whispered 
Nielsen  evilly.     "It's  so  easy  for  one  to  die,  and 
to  be  put  down  in  the  darkness  among  the  worms." 
The    cobbler    shuddered    despite    his    fuddled 
state. 

But  then  Nielsen  repeated  his  "shh"  and  the 
cobbler  also  heard  a  soft  scraping  up  on  the  street, 
[167] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Nielsen  stole  over  to  the  rug  in  front  of  the  win- 
dow and  put  his  ear  to  it.  His  face  was  dark  but 
determined  as  he  turned  away. 

The  cobbler  had  fallen  over  on  the  bed  where 
he  lay  and  snored.  Nielsen  put  out  the  light  and 
again  tiptoed  over  to  the  window.  Somebody  was 
moving  softly  about  the  court.  He  heard  the  per- 
son stop  and  listen,  with  his  hand  on  the  window 
pane. 

Nielsen  stood  still  as  death. 

Ten  minutes  passed.  All  was  still  except  for 
the  snoring  of  the  cobbler.  He  heard  the  stranger 
up  in  the  court  tiptoe  away,  through  the  gateway, 
out  to  the  street.  He  heard  his  footsteps  ring  on 
the  cobblestones.  Further  and  further  away. 

He  breathed  more  easily.  Still  he  waited  sev- 
eral minutes.  All  was  quiet  in  the  moonlit  court. 
He  lifted  the  curtain  cautiously,  and  peeped  out. 
The  court  was  empty.  He  let  the  rug  fall  back. 

He  stood  and  reflected  an  instant,  then  lit  a 
match  and  looked  around  the  room.  A  small  gas 
stove  stood  in  the  corner  toward  the  court.  He 
noted  its  position,  and  stole  over  to  the  cobbler, 
and  bent  over  him.  He  had  seen  him  put  the  40 
kroner  in  his  breast  pocket.  He  lit  another  match, 
and  took  the  notes  out  cautiously  without  disturb- 
[168] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

ing  the  cobbler.     In  the  pocket  above  that  he 
found  three  10  kroner  notes. 

"It  has  been  an  expensive  business,"  muttered 
Nielsen,  and  took  the  money.  "Go  to  hell  then," 
and  he  nodded  to  the  cobbler  with  an  evil  smile. 

The  match  went  out. 

He  opened  the  door  to  the  shop  in  the  darkness, 
and  examined  the  window  closely.  No,  there 
were  no  cracks  to  speak  of. 

He  stopped  a  moment  at  the  gas  stove,  then  hur- 
ried out  in  the  kitchen,  and  locked  the  door  behind 
him. 

"He  won't  be  cold  now — the  darling  thing!" 
and  he  laughed  silently. 

The  court  was  still  white  and  deserted  as  far 
as  he  could  see  through  the  frosty  and  dirty  win- 
dows. A  cat  sneaked  over  to  the  gateway,  and 
turned  into  it  but  stopped  suddenly  and  went  back. 

Nielsen  swore  softly,  and  pulled  his  hat  over 
his  eyes.  Then  he  opened  the  kitchen  door, 
locked  it  behind  him,  and  went  up  into  the  court. 
However,  he  did  not  go  out  on  the  street  but  into  the 
next  court,  which  one  could  see  from  the  gateway, 
and  which  together  with  various  other  courts, 
reached  right  down  to  Dannebrog  Street. 

He  went  along  apparently  unsuspecting,  though 
[169] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

cautiously.  But  in  reality,  he  was  listening,  and 
he  heard  footsteps  behind  him.  When  he  reached 
a  connecting  archway  he  went  hurriedly  through 
it,  but  ducked  back  at  once  and  hid  in  its  deepest 
shadow. 

Several  seconds  passed.  Then  a  man  suddenly 
showed  himself  out  in  the  moonlit  courtyard.  He 
seemed  to  hesitate  but  soon  after  he  crept  into  the 
archway. 

Nielsen  stood  ready  to  spring.  The  other  had 
no  idea  that  he  was  there.  He  slipped  by,  nearly 
touching  the  printer,  but  almost  at  the  same  time 
uttered  a  low  groan.  He  went  down  with  an  iron 
blow  from  Nielsen's  fist.  He  lay  senseless. 

"When  he  wakes  up  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or 
so,"  muttered  Nielsen,  as  he  changed  part  of  his 
clothing  in  the  darkness,  "the  cobbler  will  be  dead, 
and  from  now  on  Nielsen  the  printer  exists  no 
more.  We'll  see  then  whether  Mister  Falk  can 
arrest  Saabye's  murderer." 


[170] 


CHAPTER  IX 

*4F"T^HE  detective  bureau  called  up,"  said 
Willing  the  next  day  to  Falk.  The  lat- 
JL  ter  had  appeared  in  the  study  at  the  un- 
usually early  hour  of  half  past  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

Falk  lit  a  cigar. 

"And  what  good  news  did  they  have?" 

"Unfortunately,  none!  The  man  assigned  to 
follow  the  cobbler  shadowed  him  all  day.  And 
the  cobbler  spent  money  right  and  left  and  drunk 
heavily  and  visited  a  woman  of  ill  repute.  At 
twelve  o'clock  on  the  corner  of  Enghavevej  and 
Vesterbro  Street  he  had  met  a  man  who  went  home 
with  him. 

"This  man  left  the  cobbler  about  one  o'clock  and 
sneaked  away  through  some  courts  that  lead  up 
to  Dannebrog  Street.  The  detective  still  followed 
him  but  the  stranger  must  have  taken  alarm. 
Anyway  in  one  of  the  darkest  and  deepest  arch- 
ways, he,"  and  Willing  shuddered  at  the  thought, 
[171] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"took  the  detective  by  surprise  and  felled  him  to 
the  ground." 

Falk  swore. 

"And  of  course  was  gone  when  the  man  came 
to  his  senses  again,"  ended  Willing. 

"Who  was  this  fellow?     Was  it  the  printer?" 

"No,  the  detective  thought  not.  At  any  rate, 
he  didn't  look  like  the  man  you  described.  He 
was  tall  and  thin  it's  true,  but  very  much  bent 
over  and  dressed  quite  differently  from  the  printer. 
He  had  on  a  long  worn  ulster  and  wore  a 
soft  hat  pulled  down  over  his  eyes.  The  man 
from  the  bureau  had  to  go  home.  He  hasn't  re- 
covered from  the  attack  yet." 

"Hm,"  growled  Falk,  "that  was  a  nice  bit  of 
news.  Have  you  any  more  Job's  messages?" 

"I  don't  know,"  and  the  offended  Willing 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  "what  you  will  call  Jen- 
sen-Skandrup's  message.  He  rang  up  about  a  half 
hour  ago.  The  young  artist  had  been  confronted 
by  the  body  of  his  foster-father." 

"But  it  led  to  nothing,"  continued  Falk  and  nod- 
ded. "Am  I  wrong?" 

"No,  decidedly  not.     He  only  wept  and  kissed 
the  old  man's  brow.     Jensen-Skandrup  called  the 
affair  'a  blurred  film'—" 
[172] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"The  cobbler,  Thorvald  Hansen,  didn't  ring 
up?"  asked  Falk. 

Willing  shook  his  head:  "No." 

"I  should  have  put  Holm  on  his  trail,"  said 
Falk  irritably  and  picked  up  one  of  the  news- 
papers. 

As  he  did  so  some  one  rang  loudly  out  in  the 
entry.  An  instant  later  he  heard  Preben  Miller 
demand  to  see  him  at  once.  Falk  opened  the  door 
to  the  corridor  himself: 

"What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you?"  he 
asked — astonished.  Miller  was  always  so  self- 
possessed.  Falk  gave  his  friend  his  hand.  He 
was  astounded  at  the  other's  appearance.  Preben 
Miller  looked  like  a  sick  man.  His  face  was 
ashen,  he  had  dark  circles  under  his  eyes  and  his 
clothes  were  untidy  as  if  he  had  thrown  them  on 
without  thinking,  he,  who  always  used  an  hour  to 
dress  in. 

"What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you?"  re- 
peated Falk. 

"I  must  talk  with  you  at  once,  now,"  moaned 
Miller. 

Willing,  who  had  greeted  him  with  a  stiff  bow, 
withdrew  discreetly  to  the  living-room. 

"What  is  it,  then?"  asked  Falk. 
[173] 


TWO    DEAD   MEN 

Miller  gave  him  a  letter.     His  hand  shook,  and 
his  voice  trembled.     "Read  this!"  he  said,  and 
sank  down  with  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands. 
Falk  read: 

"Dear,  dear  Preben, 

"I  was  distressed  and  discouraged  yesterday,  and  I 
would  not  tell  you  why.  But  now  I  must  confess  to 
you.  We  cannot  see  each  other  again.  You  cannot 
love  a  woman  who  has  been  a  murderer's.  Yes,  a  mur- 
derer's. Nielsen  admitted  to  me  this  afternoon  that 
he  had  killed  a  man,  an  old  man — Mr.  Saabye.  He 
admitted  it  because  my  brother  dropped  various  hints 
on  the  subject,  and  finally  accused  him  of  being  the 
murderer,  and  because  I  demanded  an  explanation. 
Nielsen  has  always  been  my  evil  spirit.  He  has  had  a 
peculiar  and  fearful  hold  on  me.  The  only  consolation 
is  that  now  I  am  free,  though  only  to  live  in  distress 
and  misfortune.  I,  myself,  advised  him  to  go  away, 
and  he  left  the  house  here  in  disguise.  I  think  he 
has  gone  to  Sweden.  I  am  in  deep  despair,  and  I  ask 
you  not  to  try  to  see  me.  Though  you  are  the  only 
one  I  have  ever  loved. 

"Your  brokenhearted 

"£LLY." 

"I  didn't  know  she  meant  so  much  to  you,"  said 
Falk  sympathetically,  and  gave  him  the  letter. 

"I've  tried  in  vain  to  get  her  to  talk  to  me  up 
to  this  morning,"  he  groaned,  "but  when  she  heard 
it  was  I,  she  rang  off.  Her  voice  sounded  so  sor- 
[174] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

rowful.  I  am  so  afraid  that  she,  in  her  despair, 
will  do  something  insane.  And  still,  under  these 
circumstances,  I  must  do  my  work." 

He  looked  up  with  a  grimacing  smile. 

"I  must  go  to  a  first  night  at  the  Dagmar 
Theatre  tonight,"  he  said,  "and  the  play  is  a  com- 
edy!" 

"Can't  you  get  some  one  else  to  cover  the  per- 
formance?" proposed  Falk. 

Miller  shook  his  head  despondently: 

"That  won't  do,"  he  said.  "I've  been  behind 
so  much  lately  in  my  work  in  the  paper.  But  un- 
der these  circumstances,  it's  hellish  torture." 

Falk  inclined  his  head  sympathetically: 

"You  must  excuse  me  a  moment,"  he  said.  "I 
must  report  the  matter  to  the  police.  I'll  borrow 
this  letter  for  a  few  days,  too." 

Miller  nodded  again.  Falk  went  out  and  gave 
Willing  his  instructions.  A  moment  later  he  was 
back  beside  his  friend: 

"Willing's  gone  to  ring  up  headquarters.  I 
have  hopes  that  we'll  get  our  hands  on  the  printer. 
It  won't  be  the  first  time  the  Swedish  police 
have  helped  us — by  the  way,  do  you  know  where 
Nielsen  and  Elly  met  each  other?" 

"Yes,  she  told  me  herself,"  said  Miller  in  a  low 
voice.     "It  was  at  a  labour  meeting  this  spring. 
[175] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

She  had  gone  to  it  because  she  had  never  been  to 
one  before." 

The  ringing  of  the  telephone  interrupted  them. 
It  was  Holm. 

"I  didn't  find  out  much  about  the  lady,"  he  re- 
ported. "She's  well  liked,  and  for  the  last  year 
has  had  no  other  companions  than  Mr.  Preben 
Miller,  and  Nielsen.  The  green-grocer's  little  girl 
does  the  cleaning,  and  runs  errands  for  her.  The 
evening  in  question  she  came  home  alone  about 
nine  o'clock.  Shortly  after  that,  all  was  dark  in 
her  flat.  None  of  the  tenants  saw  the  printer  there 
that  night." 

Falk  hung  up. 

He  felt  sorry  for  Miller,  who  stood  by  the  win- 
dow with  downcast  head.  But  there  was  no  time 
for  lamentation. 

"I  must  go  out  at  once,"  he  said.  "Out  to 
my  friend,  Thorvald  Hansen!  The  cobbler,"  he 
added  as  explanation,  for  the  other  had  looked  at 
him  so  uncomprehendingly. 

"Let  me  go  along,"  proposed  the  author. 

"Surely!     But  won't  it  be  a  little  painful?" 

"Ah,  well,  evil  must  drive  out  evil." 

Falk  called  a  taxi,  and  gave  the  house-keeper  in- 
structions in  case  Thorvald  Hansen  should  show 
up  while  he  was  away. 

[176] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Let  him  wait  in  here!  I'll  ring  up  every  quar- 
ter of  an  hour." 

It  had  begun  to  snow  when  they  came  out  on 
the  street  to  the  waiting  taxi.  They  jumped  into 
it  quickly. 

"Saxo  Street  way  down  near  Isted  Street,"  cried 
Falk  to  the  chauffeur. 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  long  time.  Then  Mil- 
ler burst  out: 

"This  is  terrible,  this  affair  about  Nielsen." 

"We'll  get  hold  of  him,"  nodded  Falk  confi- 
dently. "In  a  day  his  description  will  be  all  over 
Sweden  and  Germany." 

Miller  shivered. 

"Are  you  cold?"  asked  Falk. 

"No,  I  shudder  to  think  that  he  has  been  her 
lover,  and  that  I  have  touched  the  hand  which 
guided  the  razor  across  the  old  man's  throat. 
Murder  is  dreadful." 

Falk  gave  a  shrug. 

"We  press  so  many  highly  respected  hands  that 
have  committed  murder,  but  are  out  of  reach  of 
the  law.  Or  what  do  you  say  of  the  wealthy  be- 
trayer who  kills  the  happiness  in  a  good  but  poor 
woman's  life.  He  exists  not  only  in  novels  and 
the  movies.  He  is  right  among  us.  Or  the  em- 
ployer who  starves  his  workers.  Or  the  parents 
[177] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

who  neglect  and  illtreat  their  children.  I  could 
give  you  hundreds  of  examples.  The  world  is 
full  of  murderers." 

"But  to  cut  off  a  person's  life,"  protested  Mil- 
ler, "to  stop  a  heart  from  beating;  to  cause  an  or- 
ganism to  stiffen  so  that  it  cannot  function  any 
more;  that  seems  to  me  worse  than  anything  else." 

Falk  grunted,  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

They  turned  swiftly  down  Saxo  Street.  The 
snow  fell  faster  and  faster.  The  dirty  white 
poorhouse  stood  there  and  froze.  Here  and  there, 
in  an  archway,  people  with  an  out-of-work  look 
could  be  seen;  always  there  like  the  morning  dew. 
They  pressed  themselves  into  the  corner  of  the 
archway,  with  their  hands  dug  down  in  their 
pockets,  and  sixpenny  hats  pulled  over  their  eyes, 
bent  over  by  the  cold  and  dully  stamping  in  the 
snow  that  blew  on  their  legs,  trying  to  keep  the 
blood  in  circulation  in  their  alcohol-soaked  bodies. 

The  taxi  stopped  with  a  violent  jerk  outside  the 
cobbler's  cellar.  Old  Hansen  stood  down  there 
profanely  tugging  away  at  the  door  knob.  His 
teeth  chattered  with  cold. 

"Is  no  one  home?"  asked  Falk  and  told  the 
driver  to  wait. 

"Yes,  he  must  be  there,"  growled  the  old  man. 
[178] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"But  the  door  is  always  open  at  this   time  of  day. 
I  suppose  the  beast  is  sleeping." 

"Did  you  try  the  kitchen  door?"  Falk  asked. 

"Yeh,  that's  locked  too." 
"Maybe  your  son  has  gone  out?" 

"He  never  goes  out  as  early  as  this,"  and  the 
old  man  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  we  can  take  a  look,"  proposed  Falk  and 
pulled  a  bunch  of  skeleton  keys  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  began  to  smile  at  the  old  man's  surprised  ex- 
pression. 

"You  never  saw  anything  like  that  before?" 

The  old  man  tried  to  look  more  stupid  than 
usual. 

Falk  opened  the  door  at  once,  and  went  into  the 
store,  but  stopped  and  sniffed  the  air: 

"There  must  be  a  leaky  gas-pipe  around  here 
somewhere,"  he  said. 

The  old  man  could  smell  nothing,  and  Falk 
could  see  that  the  gas  jets  over  the  door  and  in 
the  window  were  both  closed;  they  had  not  been 
used  for  a  long  time.  The  old  man  was  tugging 
at  the  door  to  the  back  room. 

"That's  locked,  too,"  he  growled  harshly,  "and 
from  the  inside;  he  must  have  had  a  fine  load  to 
carry  last  night." 

[179] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

"Your  son  doesn't  usually  lock  up  so  carefully, 
eh?"  asked  Falk. 

"No,  he  never  locked  this  door  before." 

Falk's  face  had  become  grave.  He  hastily 
pushed  the  key  inside  to  the  floor  and  opened  the 
door. 

All  three  jumped  back  several  paces.  Even 
the  old  man  was  almost  half  strangled  by  the  gas- 
eous stench  that  penetrated  into  the  shop.  Falk 
quickly  opened  the  shop  door  and  transom. 

"Where  are  the  gas  cocks  in  the  room?"  he 
asked  the  old  man  who  with  difficulty  stammered 
out  an  explanation. 

Miller  had  fled  up  to  the  street.  His  face  was 
livid,  and  he  still  felt  as  if  he  were  strangling, 
although  the  air  there  was  icy  cold. 

Falk  pressed  his  handkerchief  to  his  mouth  and 
nose  and  ran  into  the  room,  and  over  to  the  gas 
stove.  Yes,  both  cocks  were  wide  open!  He  shut 
them  with  trembling  fingers  and  staggered  back  to 
the  shop. 

"We  must  wait  several  minutes  until  the  gas  is 
driven  out,"  he  panted  to  Miller  who  again  had 
come  into  the  shop.  "You'd  better  stay  out 
here!" 

But  Miller  wanted  to  come  in.  The  air  was 
much  clearer  now,  too.  The  old  man  joined  them. 
[180] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

It  was  half  dark  in  the  room  but  when  Falk  tore 
the  rug  from  the  window  the  grey  winter  light  stole 
in  over  the  bare,  dirty  board-floor,  the  naked  table 
and  the  battered  chairs.  Over  two  empty  cognac 
bottles  and  some  broken  cups.  And  across  the 
bed! 

The  three  stopped  before  it,  gripped  by  the  mo- 
ment's horror.  For  upon  a  heap  of  dirty  rags  in 
it  lay  the  cobbler's  corpse.  From  his  position  it 
seemed  as  if  he  had  been  seized  by  a  sudden 
cramp.  His  neck  hung  down  horribly  from  the 
head  of  the  bed.  His  mouth  was  wide  open  with 
the  tongue  bulging  out  of  it. 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment. 

"He  always  was  a  dirty  bum,"  grunted  the  old 
man  angrily.  That  was  his  epitaph  for  his  son. 

"Call  the  police,"  Falk  bade  Miller.  "There's 
a  telephone  over  at  Nikola j sen's." 

Miller  hurried  over.  In  the  meantime  Falk 
searched  the  dead  man's  pockets.  There  was  only 
a  little  change  in  his  pocket.  The  cobbler  had 
been  unable  to  use  all  of  the  100  kroner  in  the 
course  of  the  day  before.  The  door  to  the  kitchen 
was  also  locked  from  the  outside.  To  be  sure,  the 
key  was  in  the  lock,  but  Falk  discovered  that  it  was 
also  used  to  lock  the  other  door.  The  criminal 
had,  no  doubt,  tossed  it  away  up  in  the  courtyard. 
[181] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

It  was  found  there  later. 

But  who  was  the  murderer? 

For  the  agent  from  the  detective  bureau  insisted 
that  the  man  whom  the  cobbler  had  met  and 
who  without  doubt  was  his  murderer,  was  not  Niel- 
sen, and  he  was  the  man  who  would  have  had  the 
greatest  interest  in  getting  the  cobbler  out  of  the 
way. 

Falk  began  to  examine  the  room.  Perhaps  the 
murderer  had  left  some  clue!  Old  Hansen  had 
sat  down  on  one  of  the  chairs  and  swayed  back 
and  forth,  muttering  unintelligible  things. 

Shortly  after,  Miller  came  back.  The  police 
would  be  there  at  once. 

Falk  had  stopped  before  a  cupboard  in  the  shop. 
It  was  locked.  He  picked  the  lock.  At  first  he 
saw  only  a  heap  of  dirty  rags  and  pieces  of  old 
leather.  But  then  he  suddenly  noticed  a  Japan- 
ese paper  weight,  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  dog!  And 
several  other  trinkets,  together  with  a  bunch  of 
lock  picks,  and  other  burglars'  tools. 

"I  have  made  an  interesting  discovery,"  and  he 
turned  quickly  to  Miller  with  an  air  of  triumph. 
"Do  you  remember  those  mysterious  burglaries 
that  were  committed  this  spring  and  summer?" 

"Yes,  certainly  I  do." 

[182] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

"A  rare  marble  paper-weight  was  stolen  from 
one  of  the  places.  The  papers  described  it,  and 
so  hindered  the  thieves  from  selling  or  otherwise 
disposing  of  it.  Here  it  is.  The  only  thing  I 
can't  see,  is  how  the  cobbler  had  the  brains  to 
make  these  raids.  For  they  were  really  remark- 
able of  their  kind." 

Miller  nodded. 

"Still  waters — "  he  cited,  but  was  interrupted 
by  the  hooting  of  a  klaxon  up  in  the  street. 

"It's  the  police,"  he  said,  after  looking  out. 
"Our  old  friend,  Jensen-Skandrup." 

"Your  Majesty!"  they  suddenly  heard  old  Han- 
sen  babble.  He  had  gotten  up  from  the  chair  in 
the  back  room  and  now  stood  on  the  threshold  of 
the  shop.  His  wasted  features  shone: 

"Your  Majesty!"  he  repeated  and  stretched  out 
his  hand  to  the  Inspector,  "does  me  too  much 
honour!" 

Then  he  fell  to  the  floor  and  began  to  weep  and 
moan  and  suddenly  became  uncontrollable  and 
thrashed  his  arms  wildly: 

>4Your  Majesty,  Majesty!"  he  bellowed.  "Where 
is  your  hand — your  hand,  your  hand!" 

"We  must  get  him  to  a  hospital  at  once,"  said 
Jensen-Skandrup,  turning  to  one  of  the  policemen. 
[183] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"That's  clear  enough — he's  got  the  D.  T.'s  all 
right." 

And  then  Falk  and  Miller  continued  their  ex- 
planation. 


[184] 


CHAPTER  X 

PREBEN  MILLER,  like  Falk,  liked  to  lie 
abed  late.  He  was  lying  there,  stretch- 
ing himself,  comfortably  smoking  his 
"Sunka"  cigarette,  and  apparently  in  the  best  of 
humour,  when  the  door  bell  rang. 

Who  could  that  be? 

His  creditors  had  given  up  hope  long  ago. 
Their  visits  were  always  useless.  He  had  a  way 
of  treating  them  that  made  them  feel  like  intrusive 
beggars.  And  the  letter-carrier — by  agreement 
with  Miller — never  rang  but  threw  the  letters  in 
through  a  letter  slot.  Money  drafts  never  came — 
for  there  is  something  called  advance  royalty  and 
Miller  was  always  in  advance  both  at  his  publish- 
ers and  at  his  paper. 

It  couldn't  be  Elly  because  she  had  keys  to  the 
apartment.  Nor  the  King's  bailiff.  He  wasn't 
due  until  next  week  sometime  when  he  would  as 
usual  go  away  with  a  long  face.  For  Miller  only 
rented  furnished  rooms.  But  who  could  it  be — ! 
Miller  thrust  a  pyjama-clad  leg  out  of  the  bed. 
Could  the  cleaning  woman  have  gone  crazy  and 
[185] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

come  at  this  time  about  four  hours  ahead  of  time! 
He  could  hardly  believe  that. 

The  ringing  continued  with  disrespectful  vigour. 
Miller's  expression  was  one  of  deep  surprise. 
Well,  he  would  open  the  door  just  enough  so  that 
he  could — if  it  was  a  creditor — slam  it  in  his 
face  with  a  passing  remark  about  bothering  people 
at  that  time  of  the  night. 

Then  he  heard  a  calling  card  being  put  through 
the  letter  slot,  and  the  person  went  away  and 
tramped  noisily  down  the  stairs.  He  waited  until 
the  foot-steps  had  died  away  and  then  stole  out  in 
the  hall  and  picked  up  the  card ! 

It  was  a  white  blank  card! 

He  went  back  to  the  bedroom  swearing  softly 
and  was  just  about  to  get  into  bed  when  the  door 
bell  rang  again.  If  some  one  was  trying  to  make 
a  fool  of  him  he  would  soon  show  them — 

In  an  instant  he  was  out  in  the  next  room  and 
at  the  door  to  the  corridor.  He  opened  it  almost 
noiselessly.  He  had  in  his  haste  upset  the  con- 
tents of  the  light  waste-paper  basket  that  stood  un- 
der his  writing  table,  but  without  noticing  it.  He 
stood  ready  to  jump  and  opened  the  door  little  by 
little.  Then  suddenly  as  the  letter  slot  was  pushed 
up,  he  heard  a  cheery  voice  say  triumphantly: 
[186] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"Come  on,  open  up!  For  you  are  home.  The 
card  is  gone!" 

It  was  Arne  Falk. 

Miller  opened  the  door  in  unfeigned  astonish- 
ment: 

"But  what  is — ?  I  never  thought  you  were  up 
so  early." 

"Well,  I  am  a  little  proud  of  it,"  smiled  Falk 
modestly:  "But  I  have  some  important  news  for 
you." 

"Will  you  come  in?"  They  went  in.  "You 
must  excuse  me  a  moment.  I'll  go  in  here  and  get 
some  clothes  on.  But  go  ahead  anyway.  I'm 
all  ears." 

He  let  the  bedroom  door  stand  ajar.  Falk 
threw  himself  into  a  chair  by  the  writing  table. 

"I've  just  come  from  headquarters.  Lange  has 
been  released." 

"Does  Ada  Stock  know  it?" 

"Yes,  I  rang  her  up  myself  last  night.  She 
came  over  to  meet  him." 

"It  was  quite  touching,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  I  admit  that  I  was  quite  envious,"  sighed 
Falk. 

"That's  nothing  to  sigh  about,"  said  Miller  con- 
solingly. "Remember  what  Wilde  says,  'One  can 
[187] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

be  happy  with  any  woman — if  one  doesn't  love 
her' —     But  how  goes  it  with  your  printer?" 

"We  haven't  got  him  yet." 

"Was — was  Elly  cross-examined?"  asked  Mil- 
ler, stammering  slightly. 

"Yes,  for  a  long  time  last  night." 

Miller  sighed. 

"And  came  through  all  right  too,"  continued 
Falk.  "District  Attorney  Jorgensen,  with  whom 
I  talked  later,  is  of  the  opinion  that  she  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  either  the  murder  or  the  burglaries. 
And  she  hasn't  seen  much  of  her  brother  either." 

"Well,  thank  the  Lord  that  she  came  through 
all  right!  How  did  she  take  it  anyway?  For 
you  saw  her  I  suppose?" 

"She  took  it  sensibly  enough,"  and  Falk  lit  a 
cigar.  "You  have  recovered  too.  You  were  quite 
down  in  the  mouth  yesterday." 

"Yes,  you  must  reason  your  way  in  a  situation 
like  this.  I  was  afraid  at  first  that  she  would 
commit  suicide.  But  then  she  would  have  done 


it  at  once." 


"Yes,  of  course! — How  was  the  premiere  last 
night?"  asked  Falk  smilingly.  He  sat  with  Mil- 
ler's review  before  him. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  know.     I  certainly 
had  other  things  to  think  about." 
[188] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"You  weren't  especially  kind  either  to  the 
actors  or  to  the  author." 

"Kind!"  grunted  Miller  scornfully.  "Who  in 
hell  can  demand  kindness  when  the  critic  is  in 
trouble  clear  up  to  his  eyes?" 

" — Or  one's  house-keeper  burns  the  steak  for 
dinner,"  continued  Falk  mischievously;  "or  his 
girl  has  gone  back  on  him;  or  the  King's  Bailiff 
raids  one's  house!  No,  of  course,  critics  are  in- 
fluenced by  those  things —  But  now  you  are  in 
good  enough  humour  to  praise  'Fairy  Play'  which 
lies  on  your  table  here?" 

Falk  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  book,  and 
began  to  turn  its  pages. 

"Apparently,"  admitted  Miller,  and  began  to 
strop  his  razor  on  a  leather  strop. 

In  the  middle  of  the  book,  Falk  came  upon  a 
long,  golden  hair — a  woman's:  "I  didn't  know 
that  it  was  in  the  bookstores  yet,"  he  remarked. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  got  it  last  night  through  the  mail. 
With  a  dedication  from  the  author.  For  I  am 
of  some  importance  after  all,"  laughed  Miller. 

"Did  you  have  any  visitor  last  night  after  the 
theatre?"  asked  Falk. 

"No,  I  went  home  alone." 

"I  thought  that  you  had  some  women  friends 
here?" 

[189] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 
"No,  I  didn't  feel  like  it.     All  this  with  Elly- 
you  understand. — And  even  if  I  am  thoughtless, 
I—" 

"Yes,  but  it  could  have  been  Elly  herself — " 
"Elly?     Are  you  crazy?     I  haven't  seen  her 
since  the  night  before  last." 

"Well,  well.     There  was  no  offence  meant." 

For  Miller's  tone  had  sounded  somewhat  irritated. 

"No,  but  can't  you  see — "     The  rest  of  Miller's 

reply  was  lost  in  the  noise  of  a  passing  street  car. 

he  had  opened  his  bedroom  windows. 

Falk  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar,  and  then 
noticed  the  overturned  waste  basket.  He  righted 
it,  and  laboriously  began  to  put  the  waste  paper 
back  in  it. 

"Either  you  are  a  very  industrious  man,"  he 
said,  "or  else  you  have  a  very  neglectful  clean- 
ing woman." 

"Why,  may  I  ask?" 

"Your  waste-paper  basket  is  bulging  with  stuff." 
"Well,  it  was  emptied  yesterday  noon." 
"But,  what  in  the  deuce — P'     Falk  stared  in 
surprise  at  something  that  he  saw  under  a  crum- 
pled piece  of  cardboard,  and  the  last  of  the  bas- 
ket's contents  he  had  not  yet  put  back: 

A  broken  india-rubber  plate  with  four  front 
teeth! 

[190] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Remarkable  long,  yellow  teeth,  that  he  knew  so 
well.  Nielsen's  peculiar  front  teeth  had  looked 
like  that! 

For  a  moment  he  was  overcome.  Then  he  hur- 
riedly put  the  demolished  gum  in  his  pocket,  and 
happened  in  the  same  instant  to  glance  at  the  book 
in  which  he  had  found  the  long,  yellow  hair. 

That  hair  was  of  just  the  same  color  and  tex- 
ture as  Elly  Hansen's.  He  knew  that  she  had 
keys  to  the  apartment — and  that  Miller  had  been 
at  the  Dagmar  Theatre,  where  the  performance 
lasted  until  eleven  o'clock.  Elly  Hansen  had  been 
cross-examined  from  7  to  a  quarter  past  8  o'clock. 

Perhaps,  she — without  Miller's  knowledge  had 
arranged — up  in  Miller's  apartments — a  rendez- 
vous with  Nielsen,  who  did  not  dare  to  visit  her 
at  her  home.  The  journey  to  Sweden  could  have 
been  postponed.  Nielsen  and  she  could  have  had 
any  number  of  things  to  talk  about. 

In  order  to  disguise  himself,  before  he  ven- 
tured out  in  a  city  whose  police  lay  in  wait  for 
him,  Nielsen  could  have  destroyed  the  false  teeth. 
It  was  certain  that  no  one,  unless  perhaps  Elly 
Hansen,  could  have  had  the  slightest  idea  that 
those  teeth,  his  most  conspicuous  characteristic, 
were  false.  His  toothless  mouth  would,  therefore, 
be  an  excellent  disguise. 

[191] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

And  had  he  at  the  same  time  thrown  away  his 
glasses  and  had  had  a  chance  to  change  his  clothes, 
he  would  have  been  well-nigh  unrecognizable. 

It  was,  of  course,  unpardonable  carelessness  to 
have  thrown  the  false  teeth  in  the  waste  basket. 
But  even  the  best  of  crooks  make  mistakes — and 
often  concerning  vital  matters.  The  full  basket, 
which  Elly  no  doubt  had  told  him  was  emptied 
every  day,  had  probably  tempted  him.  The  plate 
he  could  not  have  burnt,  as  Miller  would  have  been 
able  to  smell  it  on  his  arrival. 

Perhaps  Nielsen  had  taken  some  of  Miller's 
clothes.  For  Elly  could  easily  have  disposed  of 
his  old  ones. 

Falk  opened  the  bedroom  door.  Miller  was 
washing  his  face  after  shaving.  The  door  of  the 
clothes  closet  stood  wide  open.  Only  three  suits 
of  clothes  hung  there. 

"Is  that  all  of  your  wardrobe?"  smiled  Falk. 

"Yes,  these  three  suits  are  all  my  earthly  pos- 
sessions. The  rest  are  all  at  'Uncle's'!" 

"But  you've  some  old  clothes?" 

"Not  a  single  piece.  There's  a  second  hand 
clothes  dealer  over  in  Victoria  Street,  and  he  buys 
all  my  old  stuff.  There  isn't  as  much  as  an  old 
vest  around  now." 

Falk  looked  at  his  watch: 
[192] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"I  must  go  now,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  but  wait  and  let  us  eat  breakfast  together," 
protested  Miller.  "That's  an  invitation!" 

" — which  I  cannot  afford  to  accept,"  smiled 
Falk  a  bit  sarcastically. 

"To  think  that  you  can  be  sarcastic — so  early  in 
the  day." 

Miller  showed  him  smilingly  to  the  door: 

"You  are  a  queer  fellow,"  he  said.  "I'll  re- 
member that  little  trick  with  the  calling  card. 
You  can't  fool  me  twice." 

"No,  that's  so,  you're  not  a  detective,"  and  Falk 
disappeared  with  a  cheery  farewell. 

Elly  Hansen  was  at  her  dressing  table  when  the 
door  bell  rang. 

"I'm  not  at  home,"  she  said  to  the  green-grocer's 
little  girl  who  was  mopping  the  floor.  The  girl 
hurried  out  and  opened  the  door. 

"Miss  Hansen  ain't  home,"  she  heard  her  pipe. 

"Oh,  is  that  so!" 

It  was  a  man's  voice.  She  heard  him  push  the 
little  girl  aside  and  step  into  the  hall.  That  was 
too  much. 

With  one  little  spring,  Elly  was  in  the 
door  to  the  hall.  There  was  a  man  standing 
there: 

[193] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

"Didn't  you  understand  what  the  girl  said.  I'm 
not  at  home  to  any  one." 

"You  are  at  home  to  me,"  said  the  man 
smilingly.  "No  one  escapes  his  fate." 

Unabashed  he  opened  the  door  of  the  living 
room,  and  stepped  in.  It  was  Arne  Falk!  She 
recognized  him  at  once,  and  was  afraid. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  she  asked  shortly. 

"I  want  to  give  you  some  advice,"  said  Falk. 

"About  what,  may  I  ask?"  She  tried  in  vain 
to  appear  calm.  Her  eyes  were  anxious  and  ir- 
resolute. Now  and  then  she  wet  her  dry  lips. 

"This,  of  telling  you  where  Saabye's  murderer 
is  to  be  found.  We  are  aware  that  you  know  his 
hiding  place,  and  that  he  is  now  here  in  the  city." 

"Then  you  know  more  than  I  do,"  she  said  de- 
fiantly. 

"We  know  furthermore,"  continued  Falk  un- 
disturbed, "that  you  met  him  last  night  in  a  house 
on  old  Kingsway.  I  don't  think  I  need  to  de- 
scribe it  more  closely  for  you." 

She  resembled  a  spectre  as  she  stood  there.  She 
did  not  speak;  only  shook  her  head  in  a  sort  of 
automatic  defiance. 

"The  reason  I  am  asking  you  to  help  us,"  Falk 
went  on,  "is  that  your  so-called  printer,  Nielsen — " 
[194] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"So  called,"  she  started  violently  but  otherwise 
restrained  herself. 

"Yes,  so  called,"  repeated  Falk.  "For  he  is 
no  more  a  printer  than  you  or  I." 

"Why  don't  you  arrest  him  then  if  you  know 
him?"  she  demanded.  It  was  as  if  a  light  had 
suddenly  dawned  for  her. 

"Because  we  need  a  link  in  the  chain  of  evi- 
dence. A  link  which  I  ask  you  to  give  us.  You 
will  not  regret  your  helpfulness." 

"Do  you  want  it  in  writing?"  She  tried  to  make 
her  tone  seem  bantering,  but  her  glance  in  an  un- 
guarded moment  roamed  to  the  writing  desk  and 
rested  on  some  paper  and  envelopes  that  lay  there. 
Falk  felt  sure  that  something  lay  under  there. 
But  he  also  saw  that  the  coincidence  was  giving 
him  a  helping  hand: 

"Yes,  it's  best  to  have  it  in  writing,  of  course." 

"I'll  think  it  over,"  she  said.  "Let  me  have 
the  pen  and  ink,  please.  I'll  go  in  the  bedroom 
with  it.  I  wish  to  be  alone  for  a  moment." 

Falk  nodded  in  assent  and  handed  her  the 
writing  materials.  "I  suppose  I  may  use  your 
telephone?" 

"Yes,  it's  at  your  service." 

He  heard  the  maid  scrubbing  the  floor  in  the 
[195] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

bedroom  as  Elly  Hansen  opened  the  door  only  to 
shut  it  at  once  behind  her. 

He  asked  for  his  own  number.  Willing  an- 
swered the  phone. 

"This  is  Falk,"  he  said,  and  heard  the  window 
in  the  bedroom  being  carefully  closed,  and  some 
one  tip-toe  over  to  the  door  to  the  living  room. 
The  scrubbing  had  also  ceased. 

"We  are  on  his  trail,"  Falk  went  on. 

"Whose  trail?"  asked  Willing. 

"All  we've  got  to  do  is  to  smoke  the  fox  out  of 
his  hole.  We'll  know  in  a  few  minutes,  just  where 
he  is." 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  what  you're  talking 
about."  Willing  faltered  in  bewilderment. 

"That's  quite  all  right,"  said  Falk  and  contin- 
ued, "what  did  you  say?" 

Willing  repeated  his  remark  about  not  under- 
standing. As  Falk  still  did  not  answer  he  rang  off 
after  a  few  confused  hellos. 

Falk  remained  sitting  at  the  telephone.  Now 
and  then  he  raised  his  voice  as  if  he  was  answering 
a  question.  In  reality  he  was  listening  to  the  slight 
noise  from  the  bedroom  where  he  heard  Elly  whis- 
pering to  the  cleaning  girl,  and  then  heard  the  lat- 
ter go  out  by  the  kitchen  door.  An  instant  later, 
the  scrubbing  within  was  resumed.  He  knew  that 
[196] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

it  was  Elly  Hansen  who  sought  to  make  him  be- 
lieve that  the  little  girl  was  still  in  there. 

Falk  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  looked  for  the 
wire.  It  went  in  a  sweeping  curve  behind  the 
writing  table  down  to  the  carpeted  floor.  He  bent 
down  and  snipped  it  in  two.  He  heard  the  mop 
being  laid  aside,  inside.  An  instant  later  Elly 
Hansen  opened  the  door: 

"Here  is  my  confession,"  she  said  triumphantly, 
and  handed  him  a  sheet  of  paper. 

The  sheet  was  blank! 

Falk  shrugged  his  shoulders: 

"He  laughs  best — "  he  said. 

Just  then  the  front  door  bell  rang. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said  and  went  out  and  opened 
the  door.  It  was  Holm. 

"I  caught  the  brat  down  in  the  hall.  She  cer- 
tainly did  howl.  But  I  finally  got  the  letter." 

He  gave  it  to  Falk.     Falk  opened  it  and  read: 

"My  dearest  one! 

They  are  on  your  track.  You  must  flee.  Telephone 
me  your  future  address.  Your  faithful  loving, 

"ELLY." 

Falk  put  it  triumphantly  back  in  the  envelope 
again,  and  looked  at  the  superscription. 

"Good  God!"  he  burst  out.  "I  hadn't  expected 
that!" 

[197] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

"You  are  not  sick?"  asked  Holm  sympathet- 
ically. Falk  was  quite  pale. 

"No,  no.  You'd  better  go,  Holm.  Come  up 
to  my  place  for  your  money  tonight." 

"Then  the  case  is  solved." 

"Yes,"  Falk  nodded  and  shut  the  door.  He 
still  held  the  letter  in  his  hand. 

"This  is  terrible,"  he  muttered  and  turned 
quickly  away.  Elly  Hansen  stood  behind  him. 
She  was  like  a  lioness  ready  to  fight  to  the  death 
for  her  young.  Her  eyes  gleamed;  her  nostrils 
quivered: 

"Give  me  the  letter,"  she  hissed  and  grasped 
for  it,  but  Falk  quickly  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

In  an  instant  she  was  back  in  the  living  room, 
and  had  closed  the  door  behind  her.  He  heard 
the  key  turn  in  the  lock.  Falk  smiled  moodily. 
He  heard  her  pick  up  the  receiver  and  demand  a 
number.  She  repeated  it  and  repeated  it.  And 
always  without  getting  an  answer. 

Suddenly  he  heard  her  utter  a  cry  of  rage  and 
despair,  and  collapse — sobbing  bitterly. 

She  had  discovered  that  the  telephone  wire  had 
been  cut.  She  could  not  warn  the  man  she  loved. 

All  was  over,  all,  all — 

Falk  had  a  great  deal  to  do  that  day,  and  it  was 
past  three  o'clock  when  he  carne  home.  There 
[198] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

was  a  telephone  message  from  Preben  Miller. 
Some  one  had  been  in  his  apartment  the  night  be- 
fore. He  thought  it  was  Elly  Hansen  because 
he  had  found  a  long,  golden  hair  strikingly  like 
hers  in  the  middle  of  a  new  book.  But  he  did 
not  understand  what  she  was  doing  in  his  apart- 
ment without  his  knowledge.  He  wanted  very 
much  to  talk  with  Falk  about  it. 

"I'll  go  over  to  him  at  once,"  Falk  decided. 
"Then  he'll  get  the  news  first  hand." 

"What  news?"  asked  Willing. 

"That  we  will  have  our  hands  on  Nielsen  in  the 
course  of  an  hour." 


[199] 


CHAPTER  XI 

MILLER  was  working  when  Falk  rang. 
The  writer  opened  the  door  himself. 
He  was  clad  in  a  silk-wadded  bath-robe, 
lamb's-wool  slippers,  and  brightly  coloured  socks. 
He  was,  as  usual,  smoking  his  "Sunka." 

The  reading  lamp  was  lit  in  the  room,  and  a 
cozy  fire  crackled  in  the  stove.  Miller's  table 
was  littered  with  books  and  manuscripts. 

"Excuse  me  for  a  moment,"  he  asked.  "I  must 
finish  this  review." 

Falk  sat  down.  The  street  cars  went  rattling 
by  down  on  the  street.  The  telephone  wires  sang. 
Miller's  pen  scratched  feverishly.  Now  and  then, 
a  piece  of  coal  exploded  in  the  stove.  Some  min- 
utes passed.  Then  Miller  laid  his  pen  aside,  and 
turned  to  Falk  with  a  cordial  nod. 

"Now  I  am  at  your  service.  I  suppose  Will- 
ing has  told  you  I  called  up." 

"Yes,  he  told  me."  Falk  looked  at  him  in  a 
queer  way. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?"  asked  Mil- 
ler. 

[200] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

Falk  lowered  his  eyes  but  did  not  answer. 

"You're  not  feeling  top-notch  today,"  asked 
his  friend  with  a  smile. 

"No,"  admitted  Falk  without  looking  up. 

"How  is  the  murder  case  getting  along?" 

"Very  well." 

"Have  you  found  the  printer?" 

"Yes,"  Falk  straightened  up.  His  eyes  did  not 
leave  Miller's  face.  The  other  was  very  pale. 

"It's  warm  as  the  deuce  here,"  Miller  panted, 
and  wiped  his  forehead.  "Where  did  you  get 
hold  of  him?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  that?" 

"Because  I  am  interested." 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  that?"  repeated  Falk  with 
special  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 

Miller,  slightly  confused,  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said. 

"You  will  not  understand  me,"  Falk  corrected. 

Miller  still  appeared  to  be  surprised. 

Falk  leaned  towards  him: 

"Or  perhaps  you  will  deny  that  you,  Preben 
Miller,  and  the  man  Nielsen  are  one  and  the  same 
person?" 

Miller  stiffened  and  stared.  He  looked  old  at 
that  moment. 

"What  do  you  know?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 
[201] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 

"I  know  all." 

"All?" 

"Or  so  much  at  any  rate  that  our  Nielsen,  the 
printer,  will  serve  a  life's  term  in  prison." 

"For  what?" 

"For  the  murders  of  old  Saabye,  and  Thorvald 
Hansen." 

"And  you  have  proof  of  your  statement?" 

Miller  had  regained  something  of  his  old  con- 
fident manner  again. 

"Certain  proof!  Perhaps  you'll  be  interested 
to  hear  it?" 

"Very  much,"  nodded  the  author  and  lit  a  cig- 
arette. 

"It  all  began  with  a  note,"  said  Falk,  "on  the 
back  of  which  you  wrote  Capt.  Stock's  name.  A 
mere  bagatelle  of  3600  kroner  that  was  extended 
again  and  again,  as  long  as  Mortensen,  the  money 
lender,  believed  in  your  coming  marriage  with 
Miss  Stock  which  you  had  hoodwinked  him  into 
believing  a  reality. 

"About  a  month  ago  you  proposed  to  Ada  Stock 
and  was  rejected.  I  questioned  her  myself  today, 
and  she  confessed  although  reluctantly.  At  the 
time  you  proposed,  she  confided  to  you  under 
promise  of  secrecy  that  she  loved  Lange. 

"And  you  knew  what  that  meant  to  you.  Some 
[202] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

fine  day,  Mortensen  would  demand  payment  on 
the  overdue  note.  And  he  would  simply  refuse  to 
extend  it.  He  did  it  the  very  day  Lange  became 
engaged.  You  were  forced  to  get  the  money. 

"First  you  tried  myself,  and  your  other  friend. 
We  couldn't  help  you.  Then  you  got  the  idea — 
through  Elly  Hansen — of  blackmailing  Lange,  on 
the  basis  of  his  former  relations  with  her,  and  his 
engagement  to  Ada  Stock. 

"And  when  that  didn't  work,  you  killed  old 
Saabye.  The  note  fell  due  the  day  after,  and  you 
paid  it  with  the  money  you  had  stolen  from  the 
murdered  man." 

"I  am  really  somewhat  sceptical  about  the  pos- 
sibility that  I  could  have  gotten  into  his  room," 
said  Miller.  "Everything  was  locked  when  he 
went  to  bed,  and  there  were  no  strangers  in  the 
apartment.  And  the  keys  were  in  their  place." 

"Not  when  you  left  Saabye  in  the  evening.  The 
house-keeper's  keys  were  not  there.  You  had 
'borrowed'  them  to  get  in  with  later  on.  But  you 
put  them  carefully  in  their  place  again,  following 
a  well-laid  plan.  You  also  borrowed  Lange's 
pocket-knife,  and  placed  it  in  a  compromising 
place  in  the  corridor,  after  first  filing  some  nicks 
in  it,  which  should  indicate  that  it  had  been  used 
to  cut  the  electric  wire  in  two;  which  was  an  im- 
[203] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

possibility  due  to  the  thickness  of  the  wire.     You, 
no  doubt,  cut  the  wire  with  a  pair  of  nippers." 

"But  Lange's  bloody  jacket  and  the  handker- 
chief and  gloves?" 

"You  borrowed  them  also.  Just  as  you  put 
the  bloody  notes  in  his  pockets,  and  strewed  some 
of  them  in  front  of  the  mantel-piece." 

"Perhaps  I  also  was  the  cause  of  his  insane 
flight  from  the  apartment?" 

"Yes,  because  it  was  you  and  no  one  else  who 
'phoned  him  about  Ada  Stock's  illness.9'' 

"When,   then?     We  were  together  all  of  the 


time." 


"When  you  went  up  to  put  your  overcoat  on." 
"Really,  this  is  all  very  interesting,"  sneered 
Miller.  "There's  only  one  little  insignificant  de- 
tail you  left  out,  and  that  was  that  the  old  man  was 
murdered  while  you  and  I  were  walking  in  peace 
and  quiet  down  near  the  Independence  Statue.  But 
perhaps  you  think  me  capable  of  killing  by  hypno- 
tism?" 

"How  does  any  one  know  when  Saabye  died?" 
''By  the  watch  which  was  found  to  be  stopped 
just  at  that  time." 

"Quite  right.     But  I  found  by  means  of  my 
glass  that  there  was  a  dent  in  the  case,  and  that 
dent  told  me  that  some  one  had  stopped  the  watch 
[204] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

by  hitting  it  against  his  knee.     Against  your  knee, 
for  example." 

"Yes,  why  not?"  smiled  Miller  although  not  so 
confidently  as  before. 

"Besides  I  quickly  became  convinced  that  Lange 
was  not  the  murderer.  The  matter  of  the  nicked 
pocket-knife  caused  me  my  first  doubt.  My  next 
one  was  even  more  positive.  For  I  happened  to 
notice  while  I  was  up  in  the  court  house  that  Lange 
was  left-handed." 

Preben  Miller  started  violently. 

"What  an  idiot  I  was,"  he  swore,  "to  have  for- 
gotten that." 

"Yes,  you  should  have  started  the  cut  from  the 
other  side,"  said  Falk  cynically.  "Although  that 
wouldn't  have  helped  you.  The  cobbler  betrayed 
you  anyway.  Why  didn't  you  bribe  him  to  keep 
silent?" 

"Because  he  wasn't  satisfied  with  the  40  kroner 
I  offered  him,  and  that  was  all  I  had  at  the  time." 

"What  I  don't  understand,"  grunted  Falk,  "is 
why  you  masqueraded  as  the  printer,  Nielsen,  un- 
less you  'worked'  together  with  the  cobbler  and 
wished  to  be  unknown  to  him." 

"Do  you  remember  the  mysterious  robberies 
this  spring  and  summer.  I  planned  them,  and  the 
cobbler  did  the  work." 

[205] 


TWO   DEAD    MEN 
Falk  regarded  him  with  something  like  wonder. 
"But — why — what — that  you  have  imagination 
and  organizing  ability  I  know.     But  from  that 


to—" 


"Well,  the  honour  is  mostly  yours,"  admitted 
Miller. 

"Mine!"  Falk  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  you  were  a  sort  of  consultant  for  me," 
explained  Miller.  "Many's  the  evening  I've  sat 
and  picked  plans  for  my  famous  robberies  out  of 
you.  And  it  was  you  who  gave  me  the  idea  of  the 
false  teeth." 

Falk  smiled  bitterly. 

"Hm!  Perhaps  I've  also  given  you  the  idea  of 
your  alias,  as  Nielsen,  the  printer?" 

"No,  I  got  that  myself.  One  evening  Elly  told 
me  of  her  worthy  family.  We  were  both  in  finan- 
cial difficulties  then  and  neither  of  us  had  moral 
scruples.  She  'imported'  me  into  the  cobbler's 
cellar;  I  had  the  teeth  made  at  a  specialist's  in 
Gother  Street,  and  that  and  the  glasses,  together 
with  a  rather  frowsy  wig  and  a  change  of  clothing, 
made  me  as  you  know — quite  unrecognizable." 

"And  you  committed  the  murders  and  robberies 
just  to  amuse  yourself?  and  to  give  Elly  Hansen 
fine  clothes?" 

"I  can  not  deny  that  my  calendar  of  sins  is  de- 
[206] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

void  of  redeeming  moments.  And  yet,  I  tell 
you,"  he  continued  gravely,  "that  I  love  Elly. 
Not  alone  because  she  is  a  woman.  But  also  be- 
cause she  is  the  bravest  and  most  self-sacrificing 
friend  a  man  ever  had.  And  I  ask  of  you,  Falk, 
do  all  you  can  to  keep  her  out  of  this —  Well,  I 
guess  that's  all.  I  suppose  you've  posted  men 
both  at  the  front  and  kitchen  door?" 

Falk  shook  his  head: 

"No,  I  came  up  here  alone." 

"Does  Willing  or  the  police  know  anything 
about  it?" 

"No,  I'm  the  only  one — besides  Elly  Hansen — 
that  knows  your  secret." 

Miller  slowly  pulled  out  a  drawer  in  the  writ- 
ing-table and  took  from  it  a  revolver.  Falk  looked 
at  him  calmly. 

"It's  loaded,"  said  Miller  harshly,  "and  makes 
very  little  noise.  I  could  shoot  you  down  like  a 
dog!  No  one  would  hear.  I  could  send  Will- 
ing a  false  telegram  that  you  had  gone  away  for 
a  few  days.  And  in  the  meantime,  I  could  flee  to 
a  foreign  country  and  hide  somewhere  or  other." 

He  veered  suddenly  and  said  in  a  tired  way: 

"But  how  would  that  help  me?     My  description 
would  be  wired  over  the  whole  world.    I  would  be 
only  a  worthless  animal  hunted  by  day  and  night. 
[207] 


TWO    DEAD    MEN 

And  I  have  no  sympathy  at  all  for  man-hunting 
when  I  am  the  quarry.  Besides  I  like  you — I 
have  played  and  lost.  Life  is  a  game.  I  really 
ought — "  He  looked  at  the  revolver  but  sighed 
"No,"  and  handed  it  to  Falk.  Then  he  seized  the 
telephone  and  asked  for  police  headquarters. 

"This  is  Preben  Miller,  the  writer,  at  Old 
Kingsway!"  he  said.  "I  have  murdered  a  man 
or  two,  and  I  wish  you  would  come  and  get  me  at 
once.  No,  of  course  it  isn't  a  joke!  Only  make 
sure  the  wagon  is  as  comfortable  as  possible.  I 
hate  jolty  cars — yes,  Preben  Miller — Old  Kings- 
way." 

He  hung  up. 

Falk  thoughtfully  weighed  the  pistol  in  his  hand. 

"Do  you  feel  no  twinge  of  conscience?"  he 
asked. 

Miller  shook  his  head. 

"None,  whatsoever.  The  cobbler  was  a  scoun- 
drel. And  Saabye  treated  me  shabbily  when  I 
asked  him  to  loan  me  money  that  evening.  He 
could  have  said  no.  But  he  made  fun  of  me  into 
the  bargain." 

Falk  suddenly  gave  him  the  revolver: 

"We  have  had  so  many  cheery  hours  together," 
he  said.  "I  will  go  into  the  room  there  in  the 


meantime." 


[208] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

But  Preben  Miller  smilingly  refused  to  do  it. 

"No,  one  never  knows  what  comes  after.  And 
a  shattered  cranium  is  so  unappetizing!" 

They  sat  in  silence  for  some  moments.  The 
noise  from  the  street  rushed  by  them  in  a  queer 
fashion.  Suddenly  Miller  turned  to  the  writing- 
table  and  put  a  manuscript  into  an  envelope,  ad- 
dressed and  stamped  it. 

"Promise  me  to  put  this  in  the  mail,"  he  said  to 
Falk,  and  handed  him  the  letter.  "It  is  a  review 
of  Nissen's  latest  book.  It  is  an  excellent  story. 
But  the  fellow  detests  me  heartily.  He  will  weep 
tears  of  blood  over  this  review,  I  hope." 

Falk  saw  that  the  letter  was  addressed  to  the 
editor  of  the  paper  for  which  Miller  wrote  criti- 
cisms. He  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  promised  to 
take  care  of  it. 

Miller's  mischievous  smile  had  changed  to  a 
grimace  of  barely  concealed  melancholy: 

"If  you  in  any  way  can,"  and  he  repeated  his 
earlier  plea,  "then  keep  her  out  of  it.  For  you 
don't  belong  to  the  police,  and  you  don't  have  to 
tell  them  about  the  robberies.  As  for  me,  well, 
I  am  not  a  yarn  spinner  for  nothing." 

"I  will  do  what  I  can,"  said  Falk  consol- 
ingly. 

"And  I  would  so  much  like  to  see  her,"  he  said 
[209] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

and  lowered  his  eyes,  "before  I —  Do  you  think  it 
could  be  arranged — alone  I  mean?" 

"I  will  speak  to  the  District  Attorney  about  it," 
promised  Falk. 

Miller  nodded  gratefully.  An  automobile 
stopped  before  the  house: 

"That  damn  note!"  he  muttered. 

They  both  sat  and  listened  to  the  steps  coming 
up  the  stairs.  They  came  nearer  and  nearer. 
Both  Falk  and  Miller  went  out  to  open  the  door, 
but  first  Miller  smoothed  his  hair  which  was  rather 
untidy. 

Two  detectives  were  there.  One  of  them  knew 
Falk. 

"I  hope  this  isn't  a  joke,  Mr.  Falk." 

"No,  it  isn't  a  joke,"  and  Miller  opened  the 
door  to  the  living-room. 

The  detectives  went  in  behind  Falk  and  Miller. 

"Is  this  Preben  Miller,  the  writer?"  the  taller 
of  them  asked. 

Miller  lit  a  cigarette,  the  last  for  many  years. 

"Yes,  I  am  he,"  he  nodded.  "I  murdered  Mr. 
Saabye  and  the  cobbler,  Thorvald  Hansen." 

The  detectives  stared  at  him  in  stupefaction. 
His  serenity  was  impressive.  But  Miller  stretched 
his  hands  toward  them: 

"Here  are  my  hands.  Would  you  be  good 
[210] 


TWO   DEAD   MEN 

enough  to  put  hand-cuffs  on  them?  I  adore 
the  dramatic.  And  I  look  forward  to  the  solitude 
of  the  prison.  There  I  will  write  my  life's 
masterpiece!" 


[211] 


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